#avs fic

[offside-the-lines]

Am I Ready (To Be Loved) | Nathan MacKinnon

Summary: Nate is not known to be impulsive, especially when it comes to love. So what happens when he gets a crazy idea while hungover the day after the Avalanche Stanley Cup parade. a/n: Happy Holidays folks! My first fic back (on this new blog) is a reworking of a fic I wrote for my Winter Prompt request last year (for @fallinallincurls). Thought I needed to start somewhere. This is obviously set in 2022 because I can't stand the idea of the avs squad being different. It also features some of our fave tropes. Pairing: Nathan McKinnon x Female!OC Words: 8K Warnings: alcohol Requests: Open | Masterlist

Charlotte hated these fancy functions. The schmoozing and the small talk were things that made her feel like she was going to crawl out of her skin. No matter how much she would normally enjoy conversation, this just felt fake. And she knew how ridiculous it was. She worked in media. She was always in front of cameras. She took this job knowing this was a requirement. It doesn’t change the truth that, at her core, she would rather be on the couch watching some TV show on Netflix.

Although this wasn’t the first formal event she’d ever been to, this was the first Colorado Avalanche donors’ function. It didn’t help that she had only been working as a correspondent for Altitude TV for a few months; so many knew her name and her face, but no one really knew her personally. So, it was just smile, small talk, comment on the Avs, rinse and repeat.

After an hour or so of this, she was feeling done. Heading to the bar for a drink and found a cocktail table in the corner of the room, tucked near the obscenely large Christmas Tree, where she could just stand and watch. Charlotte looked around the room and wondered how long she had to stay before it was not inappropriate to leave.

“Hate these parties too, eh?” a familiar voice rang beside her.

Despite her shattered solitude, the voice brought out a smile on her face. “What do you mean? I don’t hate this?” she replied, not putting in much effort to hide the sarcasm in her voice. She turned to face the voice and the sight almost startled her a little as she felt her face warm. There stood Nathan Mackinnon in his perfectly tailored navy suit, eyes shining in the dim lighting. She takes a drink quickly to distract herself, reminding herself to be a professional.

“Sure,” he chuckled, “hiding in a dark corner isn’t avoiding the party, Charlotte.”

She shrugs as she turns her eyes back to the party.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers in her ear, making her neck tingle a little, “I really don’t like these parties either. I would rather be at home on the couch with my dog watching TV.”

As he leaned back to sip his drink, she turned to him in surprise. “Oh yeah? Like what? More hockey tape?”

After a bit of light banter, they find that they have the same favorite show, much to Charlotte’s surprise. In the dim corner of a fancy event, they are quoting their favorite lines to each other, trying their hardest not to burst out laughing, hiding themselves behind their drinks so as to not draw too much attention at such a fancy event. Charlotte’s laughing so hard she snorts a little, causing Nate to look at her in surprise before continuing to laugh even harder, drawing some looks from the donors and teammates closest to them. After a while, when they both finally calm down, she feels herself relax a little.

They stood in a comfortable silence for a few more moments before Nate spoke up again. “You know, Charlotte. You ask me questions all the time, but I don’t think I really know anything about you other than your name and your job title.”

“I mean, I only really ever ask you questions about the game or the team,” she responds.

“Yeah, but I’m sure you already know everything there is to know about me,” he said pointedly, but softly. He had a point; it was her job to know as much about the players as possible.

“Okay, I know about NHL Hockey Player, Avs’ Center, Forward Extraordinaire Nathan “Nate the Dogg” Mackinnon,” she says, flashing her hands in front as if to signal an imaginary banner, “I don’t know Nate “a dude who sits on his couch with his dog watching dumb shows” Mackinnon.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” he responds deep in thought. “Fine, how about we play 20 questions? You ask me a question; I ask you a question.”

“How very high school, Nathan,” she pauses to think about it. She wasn’t really sure how to feel about this new friendship. On the one hand, it is her job to get to know the players. Although, she was pretty sure that the fraternizing was only supposed to be in professional contexts. On the other hand, her heart was beating so hard that she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. And at the end of the day, it was Nathan Mackinnon, and he wanted to get to know her. Besides, she knew that he didn’t really date anyway, so she felt safe that there was one of them keeping their feelings in check. Eventually, she responds with a nod, “Sure.”

“Okay!” He said excitedly, his blue eyes lighting up, “Where are you from? Where did you grow up and go to college and stuff?”

“Nathan, that’s two questions. Should I deduct points from you?”

“There are points now?”

“I’m just kidding.”

And so, they went back and forth getting to know each other, talking animatedly, and laughing heartily, until they got through the 20 questions each. At one point, they had migrated to a table to continue sitting down because Nate noticed she was shifting on her feet from the heels. Charlotte was pretty certain that Nate now knew her better than anyone else in Denver.

Eventually, EJ came over and tapped Nate on the shoulder at which point she looked up and realized that most of his teammates and donors had left and they were a few of the last people remaining in the event space.

“Hey,” EJ smiled at you in his signature toothless way, “good to see you’re having fun, Charlotte.”

“Thanks, EJ,” she smiled back.

“Mac Daddy, you’re kind of my ride home, so… are you ready to leave?” EJ said laughing and looked at Charlotte, “I don’t think I’ve ever had to pull Nathan here away from a party before. He is usually begging me to leave.”

Nate bumped his elbow into EJ, not drawing much of a response, as he quickly looked away from her. She could have sworn his cheeks were turning a little pink, but that could also be the lighting.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s late and I want to be up for morning skate tomorrow, unlike you lazy idiots,” Nathan grumbled standing up.

She stood up too, only now realizing how tired you were. “Yeah, damn, it’s late. Well, I had a great time talking to you Nathan,” sending him a warm smile and a nod, “EJ. See you two later.”

As she started walking away, she heard some whispers behind her before Nate called out, “Hey, Charlotte, you good to get home? I mean, do you need a ride?”

“Oh, um… Actually… Sure. That would be nice. Thanks!”

She saw EJ whisper something in Nate’s ear before he was quickly shoved away. Suddenly feeling awkward, she trailed behind them quietly to Nate’s car. As soon as it was in sight, EJ called shotgun and started making a run for it, slipping a little on the ice, making Charlotte and Nate snort with laughter.

Nate offered a hand to guide her across the slippery ground and opened the car door for her, keeping his hand on her as she climbed in. She directed Nate to her apartment, thanking him and EJ quickly as she left. Once she got into her apartment, Charlotte leaned against the door and just smiled for a bit.

*          *          *

Meanwhile, in the car, EJ was basically yelling at Nate.

“Dude, you dog, what was that?”

“EJ, stop.”

“No, I’m serious. I’ve never seen you talk to someone for that long. Not even Barrie or Sid.”

“She was easy to talk to. And it was a good way to get through the event.”

“Nate, don’t give me that bullshit.” EJ’s voice is rarely serious, but it is now.

“I don’t know what to tell you, dude.” Nate shrugged.

The rest of the ride to EJ’s house is quiet and as Nate pulled into the driveway, EJ finally spoke up again, “Tell me you at least got her number.”

“Shit,” Nate let out under his breath before he could stop himself.

“Oh my god, you idiot. You didn’t get her number.”

Nate let out a groan and tapped his forehead firmly on his steering wheel in frustration. As EJ shook his head, and said his goodbyes, Nate’s head was whirring with thoughts. There was no smooth way to ask for her number now. It’s like he missed an exit on the freeway and there was no way off now. The alcohol and the adrenaline meant he didn’t sleep much that night and, for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t make it to the optional morning skate, much to the surprise of everyone.

The rest of the season flew by as the team soared through the playoffs. Nate kept thinking about ways to ask Charlotte for her number but just couldn’t stop overthinking it and psyching himself out; eventually deciding to table the topic until after the season was over to focus on the Cup. But he reveled in every intermission or postgame interview where they got to talk, or the little conversations they would get to have in the arena or on the plane. Occasionally, he’d even slip in a hug, taking in her perfume, under the guise of celebration.

The gossip had now spread through the group — not surprising since EJ has never once kept a secret — and had been an ongoing chirp for Nate. It didn’t help that at the two galas since, Nate was the first one there excitedly scanning the room, but Charlotte wasn’t at either. He’d learn she was covering the Nuggets or the Rapids those nights and would then leave as early as possible.

It got even harder to not think about her as he neared the end of the season, where every phone call with his mom would eventually turn to his cousin’s wedding in the summer and whether he was going to bring a date. Family weddings were the one time he felt he couldn’t leave early, forcing himself to endure the suffering that was being single in your late twenties and watching people be in love. Not to mention all the comments and questions: wanting gossip, wanting a date, feeling sorry for him.

*          *          *

Charlotte was happy with the casual platonic friendship that she had found with Nate. She always looked forward to talking with him at games because he was always more relaxed with her than the other boys, even occasionally giving her a sweaty hug after a good, exciting win. Her co-workers had made some comments about how unusual it was, but she just chalked it up to them knowing each other better now.

The job kept her busy, busier than anticipated. And it felt like the year had flown by before she found herself at the celebration gala for the newly crowned Stanley Cup Champions. The atmosphere was different from the last event she had been to. That one was for schmoozing. This was only for celebrating. The energy in the room was intoxicating and she had a big smile plastered to her face as soon as she walked in.

Charlotte made her way through the crowd and congratulated everyone she saw and recognized. Eventually, she stumbled into Gabe.

“Congratulations, Gabe!” you yelled.

“Lotteee! Thank you!” he yelled back, pulling her in for a tight hug before spinning her around. He was so drunk, but he did look unbelievably happy. When he finally put her down, he grabbed her by the arm and very dramatically whispered in her ear while pointing, “Nate’s that way.”

She looked at him confused and surprised, but he didn’t let her say anything before not so gently pushing her towards Nate. And she didn’t protest, because when she finally saw him, she felt her heart speed up again. He looked jubilant, swaying slightly with EJ, face pink and hair messy. She had learned over the last month or so that she really liked the way he looked with the playoff beard.

Charlotte wasn’t sure whether to disturb whatever EJ and Nate were doing, but once EJ saw her, he let out a screech so loud she had no choice but to turn toward them. “Charlotte! Lotte! Lott Ness Monster! Come here!” But once you got here, he immediately left, vanishing to leave her standing in front of the very flushed Nathan Mackinnon.

“Hi Nathan, congratulations! Well deserved. It’s been an absolute privilege watching you this season,” she said, unsure what to do as her heart kept racing faster at the way drunk Nate was looking at her.

“Oh, stop with that professional speech and give me a hug,” he slurred, pulling her in tightly.

She chuckled and let herself enjoy the warmth and the firm contours of his body against her before forcing herself to pull away. He only let her get so far, leaving one arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

“It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself at an event like this,” she said softly.

“Well, I had to! You weren’t at the last two of these, so I had to find a way to entertain myself with EJ,” he said, pouting. She had certainly never seen him pout, but she was even more surprised that he noticed and cared.

“Oh! Yeah, I had work. Sorry.”

“I know. Who even cares about the Nuggets.” he mumbled under his breath before throwing his head back and yelling a quick “GO AVS!” that was followed by a loud round of cheers. After a few seconds, he piped up excited again, “Are you enjoying yourself today?”

“Um… I think so! It’s nice to see everyone so happy and energetic.” Her eyes scanned the crowd, smiling until she caught Gabe and EJ staring and pointing at them. Before she had the chance to ask Nate what that was about, he was pulling her towards Mikko on the other side of the room.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of drinks, laughs, and the warm firm feeling of Nate’s arm around her shoulders. With each passing drink, she found herself leaning into it more. She was sure her face was so red that it rivaled JT’s hair. But if the boys noticed, which they were too drunk to notice, they didn’t mention it. And even if they did, she doesn’t remember.

*          *          *

The next morning Nate woke up with the worst hangover of his life. He had collapsed on top of all his sheets fully naked, and so he also woke up with a slight feeling of shame and dread at what he might have done the night before. When he finally reached over to check his phone, it was blowing up with messages.

gabe the babe (INCOMING): dude did nate finally hook up with the lott ness monster

JT (INCOMING): omg nate, you have to tell us if you did

mooseman (INCOMING): he definitely did, did you not see how he literally didn’t stop touching her the whole night

Nate buried his head in his sheets and groaned, trying to rack his brain for memories of himself being an idiot around Charlotte last night. But he was drawing a blank. After minutes, he finally lifted his head again and opened a private text to EJ.

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): ej, please tell me you remember if I did something stupid last night

EJ (INCOMING): yeah. you did.

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): FUCK what did I do

EJ (INCOMING): you didn’t take lotte home with you you fucking idiot

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): what

EJ (INCOMING): you just fucking disappeared in an uber without even saying goodbye. and EYE had to make sure she got home okay

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): oh, well it could’ve been worse

EJ (INCOMING): HOW

EJ (INCOMING): HOW COULD IT HAVE BEEN WORSE

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): idk if I did something stupid or said something bad

EJ (INCOMING): dude, you have got to ask her out, you two clearly like each other

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): i have no idea what you’re talking about. we're just friends. we just work together. like you and me

EJ (INCOMING): YEAH RIGHT DOGG if you were touching me all night like that, we would be having a very different conversation ;)

EJ (INCOMING): please tell me you at least have her number now

Nate paused and thought back to the night before, but it was such a blur he didn’t know. But when he looked in his contacts, her number wasn’t there.

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): nope

EJ (INCOMING): you are so fucking hopeless. i hope you find a pair at home this summer so you will finally do something about this crush

EJ (INCOMING): or maybe when we come back in the fall, she won’t be so single anymore and it won’t matter

Nate felt his stomach turn and he groaned. The hangover finally hit him but he was typing a sarcastic response when another message interrupted his thought.

Sarah (INCOMING): congrats again bro! are you bringing someone to the wedding?

Nate (OUTGOING): wow, really cutting to the chase this morning.

Nate (OUTGOING): and no.

Sarah (INCOMING): what you’re telling me a stanley cup winner can’t find a date

Nate groaned again and muffled a scream in his pillow. He knew that his sister and mom would not drop this subject from the moment he got home. He knew that they would probably try to set him on dates, or worse introduce him to every single woman at the wedding. He lay there, head on his pillow, for a long time, until finally, he had an absolutely insane idea. An idea that can only come to someone after the happiest day of their life followed by the biggest hangover of their life.

Nate (OUTGOING): fine, I’ll bring someone

Sarah (INCOMING): OH MY GOD WHAT WHO

Sarah (INCOMING): NATHAN RAYMOND MACKINNON IF YOU’VE BEEN DATING SOMEONE THIS WHOLE TIME AND HIDING IT FROM ME, I’LL KILL YOU. I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’VE WON.

Nate (OUTGOING): nope, not telling

Sarah (INCOMING): you are a child and i hate you

Nate (OUTGOING): I love you. See you soon.

Sarah (INCOMING): URGH

Sarah (INCOMING): Love you too. I’m calling mom.

*          *          *

Charlotte woke up with a splitting headache and the room spinning at 6 am. And despite how horribly she felt, she couldn’t get back to sleep. She could still feel Nate’s arm on her shoulder, and his lips against her ear as he whispered something unintelligible, and the scent of his cologne lingering on her hair would waft into her memory every few seconds making her heart skip. She was absolutely certain that he was more drunk than she was, and that he was a touchy drunk. She felt even a little guilty for taking advantage of his touchiness, getting as much as she could last night.

After a few hours of being unable to get back to sleep, she peeled herself up and drew herself a bath with a cup of tea. She still wasn’t able to stomach food yet, but she felt her body relaxing in the warm water, finally letting Nate slip from her mind. Eventually, she got up and padded around the house thinking about the long summer ahead. It was her first summer with not a lot of work to do, and since it was her first year in Denver, she also didn’t really know many people or have any concrete plans.

She had just sat down at her computer to research ideas when she heard a buzz on her apartment intercom. She looked down at her phone confused, but there were no texts there from the few friends she had made so far.

“Hello?” she stutters cautiously into the intercom.

“Oh my god, thank fuck,” a familiar voice rang back, “it’s you. I’ve been buzzing every apartment and I swear your neighbors think I’m a crazy person.”

“What?”

“Um. Oh. Sorry, Charlotte. It’s Nate.”

She was stunned silent. Stunned and confused.

“Um… Nathan Mackinnon…” He filled the silence nervously, “You know… From the Avalanche.”

That snapped her out of her trance as a laugh bubbled out of her. “Oh my god Nathan, I know who you are. Sorry. I was just confused. How do you know where I live?”

“Um, well when we first met, I dropped you off here. So, I made the gamble that you still lived here and just buzzed every apartment to see.”

“Oh. Wow,” she says, stunned, confused and flattered, “Um, is everything okay?”

“Ah, yeah.” He paused. “You know, I just realized how dumb this was. I’m really sorry to disturb you—”

“No!” she says louder than she intended, “No, Nathan, wait. Let me buzz you up.”

“Oh, okay, yeah! Thanks!”

She paced around her entryway, thoughts racing. The door knocks still startled her, and as she walked over, she looked down at her sweatpants and realized there definitely was no time to change and prayed she looked okay.

“Hi, Nathan,” she smiled, opening the door, “Um, do you want to come in?”

“Oh, sure,” he hesitates and makes a gesture to hug her before chickening out, pulling away and stepping past her.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode today?”

“Your apartment is cute.”

“Thanks. It’s not NHL superstar level, but it’s pretty good to me.”

He chuckles and leans a hip on the kitchen island, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His eyes were firmly trained on the ground. She wasn’t really sure what to say, so she moved behind him to start making them both some tea. He studies her as she moves around and wonders how it’s possible she looks so good in your sweatpants and messy bun when he feels like his entire guts might just drop out of his body.

Eventually, he spoke up, “Um, so I realized I didn’t have your number.”

This made her laugh, a proper belly laugh. “What,” she manages to get out, “you came all the way here because you don’t have my number.”

“Well…” he hesitates, “Yeah. I mean, I never asked for it I guess.”

“Okay, do you want it now?” she was still laughing.

“Um, yes?” He was shifting on his feet, rubbing his neck with his hand, leaning awkwardly on the countertop.

“Okay,” she reached a hand out.

He looks at her confused and gives it a slap.

“That was for your phone, silly. Not for a five,” she was laughing even harder now. And his cheeks turned bright red as he handed her his phone, not meeting her eyes. She passes the phone back to him along with a cup of tea, “There you go. So… What was the huge rush? You could’ve emailed me or something for it.”

He paused and laughed, “Honestly, I didn’t even think of that. I guess my brain doesn’t work very well when I’m hungover.”

Charlotte took a seat next to him on the kitchen island as they sipped their teas.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat. “Actually, that’s not why I came over. I mean it, but it isn’t the main reason.”

“Okay?” she encouraged.

“I had a really stupid idea and it was stupid at the time, but now I’m here it’s even dumber. So, I’ll just settle for the number.”

“Okay, Nathan, you can’t just say something that cryptic and not tell me.”

His face went bright red again and he shuffled in place. “No, it’s okay.”

“Okay, no. You don’t get to interrupt my hangover recovery and not tell me why.”

He sighed and looked away. After a while, he mumbled under his breath very quickly, “Fine. Icameheretoaskyouifyou’dcometomycousin’swedding.”

“What?” she said, not sure if she misinterpreted the mumbles or if she was dreaming.

“Um… Well, my cousin, back in Nova Scotia, is getting married in a few weeks. And my mom and sister keep bothering me to bring someone. And I just had this stupid idea. Because you’re the only person I’ve had fun with at those big events. So, this morning, in my post-Stanley Cup alcohol delirium I thought Hey, I should ask Charlotte if she wants to help me survive a social event and get my parents off my ass about not having a date? So here I am. But obviously, that was insane. So don’t worry about it.”

Charlotte looked at him, mouth open, in shock for longer than acceptable, and felt her own cheeks redden. A little lightheaded, before she could really stop to think, she responded, “Sure! I mean why not? What’s the harm in me going? I don’t have any plans.”

His head snapped up to meet her eyes for the first time in a few minutes and Charlotte is captivated by the way his sharp blues light up in response. It was when she saw the smile take over his face and her heart sped up that she knew this was probably a huge mistake. But a mistake she didn’t want to take back.

*          *          *

“So, how long have you two cuties been dating?” the fifth person in a row asked. Charlotte wasn’t sure if this was an aunt or a family friend, but she forced the smile back on her face as she responded.

“Oh, we’re not dating. We work together, kind of.”

The lady looked between the two of them, and Charlotte could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle again as she was acutely aware of Nate’s hand resting on her lower back.

“She’s here as my date, yes, but we aren’t dating. We’re just good friends,” he replies gently but firmly, the same way he had been doing all weekend, before changing the subject.

But she was lost in thought. She had been here for a few days, and she had to admit that Nova Scotia was beautiful, and Nate’s family and friends were wonderful. Despite not knowing Nate super well, she had never felt out of place. He had always made sure she was included in conversations, explaining anything that felt like an inside joke. She thought back to all the times she had met a boyfriend’s family — there hadn’t been that many, but enough to know that this was far better than any of them did.

Nate had been awkward and hesitant at first, jumping away every time he touched her by accident on the plane ride over and flinching when their knuckles brushed when he went to help her grab her luggage. But he slowly allowed himself to loosen up a little, reading her lack of discomfort as a good sign. He always prided himself on acting like a gentleman; even though women complained that he was stiff and unromantic, he tried. He found himself putting in an extra effort to hold open the door for her, to pull out a chair for her, to offer an elbow as she walked on the uneven pavement.

If Nate was in his head about every move he made, Charlotte was ten times more in her head. They had only really spent time together at work and work functions. And she wasn’t sure if that’s why something felt different here, more intimate, or if she was just imagining it. She was starting to feel like he was going out of his way to touch her; laying a hand on her knee when they were sitting next to each other, tapping her elbow to show her something, keeping a hand on her back when they were standing.

She had tried her hardest not to lean into his touch every time, but she couldn’t deny the comfort his large hand on her back felt—god, was his hand always this large. It was never too low as to be intrusive; just resting chastely on her mid back to remind her that he was there and was ready to take a break from the socializing at any point.

Whether she was imagining it or not, it was starting to drive her insane. Her skin constantly felt buzzing and hot, tingling in the places he touched, electrified in the places closest to him that craved his touch.

Nate’s low voice in her ear startled her out of her thoughts.

“Hmm?” she responded as she felt her neck and ear flush with the brush of his lips on her ear.

“Oh, I was just asking if you want to go for a walk,” he murmured, “you’re looking a little overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, sure,” she breathed, her voice coming out a little shaky with how close his tall frame was to her.

And so, she reached out and took his extended elbow as they slipped out of the rehearsal dinner and wandered down to the waterfront in silence.

“I can totally see why you love it here,” she finally said.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“It’s beautiful. The water. With the lights reflecting. And all the beautiful trees. And the fresh air. I can understand why you love coming here in the summer.”

“Yeah, it’s truly something,” he looked over at her with an unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes were warm and soft. It looked like he wanted to say something for a second before he shook his head and looked away. “I’m glad you came with me. You make these big events bearable.”

“Just bearable, Nathan?” she laughed, trying to break the tension in the air she couldn’t really explain. And his chuckles were quick to join hers in the warm summer air.

And just like that, they fell into a comfortable rhythm again, laughing and chatting. Eventually, he walked her back to the hotel and their adjoining rooms.

“Well, here you go, m’lady,” he joked, letting his arm fall from her for the first time in a while. He began to turn towards his room but hesitated for a second before turning back and pulling her into a tight hug. She let herself melt into the hug, embracing the warm buzzing feeling in her chest as she felt his larger frame engulf her. He didn’t let go when she thought he was going to, instead whispering in her ear, “Thank you.”

“Thank me for what, Nathan?”

“For coming with me. For being so good with my family, even though they keep asking intrusive questions. For just being you,” he said, pulling back. They were standing so close together that she could see every shade of blue in his eyes as they looked at her intently. She swore she saw his eyes flicker to her lips briefly before the smallest sharp intake of breath he tried to hide as he untangled from her. She could feel her body ache a little as her cheeks burned.

She didn’t know if it was the glasses of wine or the dizzying tension, but before she could stop herself, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course, Nathan,” she murmured, “good night.” She smiled as she turned away and opened her hotel room door as quickly as possible.

She didn’t dare to take a peek back at him, but if she had, she would have seen his eyes wide, and cheeks flushed in shock. Instead, she quickly ducked into the room, shutting the door behind her, leaning back against the cold wood, and closing her eyes. What the fuck am I doing, she said to herself, Nate is a sweet guy, who I work with. I’m just doing him a favor. And he clearly thinks I’m just a good friend, as he keeps saying to everyone. Get it together.

She walked away and started getting ready for bed. It took her a long time to fall asleep that night, tossing and turning as her mind raced through the moments of the day, all the little touches and glances and the sparkle in Nate’s blue eyes.

 *         *          *

The following day was the wedding, and the morning passed comfortably despite neither of them acknowledging the moment they both wanted to talk about so badly. Soon, she found herself sitting beside him in the church, watching the beautiful bride stand next to her adoring groom.

While the ceremony went on, Nate was having a hard time staying out of his thoughts as the celebrant talked about love and marriage and as the happy couple exchanged adoring words with each other. It was not that he hated weddings, not at all; in fact, he loved them. He loved the celebration and the emotion. But as the years went on, it became a stunning reminder of what he did not have. With every wedding and every failed relationship in between, he felt more alone, like maybe something was wrong with him.

Charlotte noticed that Nate seemed emotional, lost in his thoughts. She had no idea what was going through his mind, but she could sense that he was troubled. At some point during the ceremony, when Nate found himself particularly emotional, he had reached his hand over and grasped hers. She had to try hard to hold back the small gasp that threatened to escape her lips. But seeing his troubled expression, she squeezed his hand. And, inexplicably to her, his hand never left hers, not during the rest of the ceremony, or the walk over to the cocktail hour space. He only reluctantly let go to help her to her seat once they got to the reception.

Although they both enjoyed the reception food, they had both been so deep in their own thoughts that their conversation with the table was stilted and almost awkward. Eventually, as the night wore on, and the gentle fuzz of liquor started to take over, they both started to relax. Nate, after starting and stopping for almost 15 minutes, finally asked her to dance; his heart rate racing as she excitedly nodded yes.

Which is how they found themselves on the dancefloor for over an hour. At first, it was awkward. They were standing a foot apart, dancing independently; she, laughing at Nate’s horrible dance moves, and Nate, feeling electrified by the way her body moved. Eventually, they got closer and closer together until they were swaying in each other’s arms to some horrible Mariah Carey song, making snide remarks in each other’s ears and not caring how obnoxiously loud they were laughing at the jokes.

A few drinks later, their inhibitions were lowered enough that she found herself with her back against him. His arms wrapped firmly around her waist as she leaned into his warm, towering figure. Both of them were no longer sure if they were intoxicated by each other or the drinks, but they did not really care. After they were grinding to a Doja Cat song, she swore she felt something press against her back, but she was not sure as Nate swiftly excused himself to use the bathroom.

And that’s how she found herself at the bar by herself.

“Nate really likes you, you know?” she heard a voice say beside her. When she looked over, she saw his mom giving her a knowing glance.

“Oh, Mrs. Mackinnon, we’re just friends,” Charlotte managed to choke out, despite feeling her throat tighten.

“I know, sweetie, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be more there,” she smiled, laying a soft hand on her forearm. She had never felt herself sober up faster.

“I appreciate that, but we do work together,” she strained.

“Please, call me Kathy,” she continued, not acknowledging Charlotte’s weak protest. And when she did not respond, Kathy added, “You know, I’ve met a number of his girlfriends, and he had never looked at them the way he looks at you. Or even treated them the same way. He’s barely left your side since you got here.”

“Kathy, I’m sure that’s not true. You have raised an amazing son. I’m sure he is just as kind to anyone.” She could feel her cheeks feel heat as she started scanning the room, desperate for Nate’s return.

“Sweetheart,” Kathy spoke softly, “I have been married for many years. There is only one reason a person looks at someone the way he looks at you, and that’s love. If you feel the same way, you should tell him. Don’t stand in the way of your own happiness, dear. Life is too short.”

She smiled as her husband came to stand next to her; and before Charlotte could protest again, she gave her a gentle hug before walking away, leaving her standing there with her head spinning at her words.

Charlotte gripped the edge of the bar and downed her drink in one go once the bartender handed it to her, earning an eyebrow raise. She jumped and let out a little squeak when she felt a warm hand press into her back.

“Woah, it’s just me,” Nate joked before he met her eyes and his brows furrowed, “are you okay?”

“Um, yeah,” she croaked out stiffly.

“Are you sure?” he stepped in closer which only made her stiffen more, “You seem… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable?”

“What?” she tried to say calmly, although it came out an octave too high, “What makes you say that? Nope. I’m fine.”

He furrowed his brow more and leaned back, confused, before removing his hand from her back and stuffing them in his pockets. There was a twinge of sadness in his eye as he looked around, unsure what to do. “Okay, then. Do you want to go back on the dance floor? Or I guess not. We could sit back at our table?”

“Yeah,” she said awkwardly, finding a normal tone again, “Table sounds good.”

They sat in silence for a bit, just watching the other guests dancing, both deep in thought. She was stuck thinking about what Nate’s mom had said. If she thought about it, she could totally understand why an outside observer would see their relationship as something more than friends. But if Nate had feelings for her, why did he so insistently refer to her as his “good friend”? And even if he did like her, she wasn’t sure about the implications for her job. Was she going to get fired? Probably not, if she was upfront with HR. But she was new to the city and relatively new to the field. What if people started to see her as the girl who ‘goes for the stars’ or the girl who’s ‘just here to get in some rich athlete’s pants’. She had worked too hard not to be taken seriously now. And maybe if things worked out, it would eventually blow over. But if it didn’t work out… If it didn’t work out, she wasn’t sure what would happen, but she felt it would be bad.

Meanwhile, Nate was panicking; combing through every moment of the evening, trying to find where things went wrong. He was finally feeling like he had an idea of how she felt. Like maybe if he told her his feelings, she would reciprocate. Did he go too far with the dancing? Was Drunk Nate too caught up in the moment and did something inappropriate and unwanted? Nate was never much of a verbal processor — he preferred to stew on things first, —  and maybe it was the remnants of the alcohol lingering in his system but he felt the words trying to bubble up in his chest. He didn’t even know what the words would be; maybe words to explain how he felt about her, to make sure he didn’t do something wrong, to make sure she was okay.

When she finally felt the grip on her chest loosen and the thoughts begin to slow a little, she snuck a quick glance at Nate. His jaw was set firm, and brows furrowed. He was staring into the crowd on the dancefloor, but he was clearly not watching them. He looked tense, and she could see the panic she felt reflected on his face. She found herself reaching out and taking his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze; a move that clearly surprised him as he jumped a little before smiling and relaxing into it.

“Nate, I’m actually getting kind of tired. I’m thinking of heading back to the room. Did you want to stay longer?” she said gently.

He squeezed her hand back and gave her a small smile, although the worry hadn’t left the contours of his face yet, “No, I’m actually ready to head back too. Come on.” He pulled her onto her feet.

They took the ten-minute walk back to the hotel in relative silence, tethered together by their interlocked hands. Nate spent the whole walk back planning his speech; he was going to tell her how he felt because he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Holding hands with her just felt so right. But for her, despite how nice it felt, it caused an overwhelming sense of panic to rush back through her. It was nice. It was too nice. It was going to ruin everything.

Stepping out of the elevator, the words escaped her lips before she had the chance to hold them back. “Nate, I think this was a mistake,” her voice was barely above a whisper. He froze beside her and managed to choke out a “What?”

“Nate,” she said, pulling her hand away from him and backing towards her door, “This is giving me a taste of what I can’t have. And this friendship… I don’t think I can do this.”

“What are you talking about?” he replied, still stuck in the spot where she left him, his voice louder than he had intended.

“The touching, the holding hands, the being sweet… It’s too much,” she said, unlocking the door, not meeting his eyes.

“What—” he repeated, his voice cracking at the end. Her mind didn’t process that the pain she felt was echoed in his voice.

She sighed, stepping into the doorway, “I can’t do this, Nate. Because if we keep doing this, I’m going to fall in love with you. And I can’t do that while being your ‘good friend from work’. So, I’m going to bed. Good night.” She finally met his eye as she stepped back to shut the door, barely registering the way his face flickered from hurt to confusion to shock to hope.

Charlotte rested her forehead against the door and let out a shaky breath. She could feel the tears form and slide down her face. She tried to convince herself that it was the right move, but the only thing she could hear in her head was the sound of Nate’s mother’s voice saying ‘Don’t stand in the way of your own happiness, dear. Life is too short.’ What if Kathy was right? What if protecting herself from pain was causing more pain itself? What if it would work out? As she stood there, she listened for movement on the other side of the door, but she heard none. Was that hope she saw in his face there? If it was, what did it mean?

Before she could finish the thought, she heard shuffles and a rapid knock on the door that startled her. She didn’t know why, but she opened it without hesitation.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I did something earlier that made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I'm crossing a boundary now but I would never forgive myself if I didn't say this," he said, looking at her with concern. When she nodded, he continued speaking.

He confessed to her that he had never been this person before, love-struck and irrational. He had always been calm, detached, and calculated, but with her, he couldn't help it. He couldn't help being rash, like inviting her to the wedding or reaching out to touch her and be close to her.

She had told him that she couldn't do this because she was scared of falling in love with him, but he revealed that he might already be in love with her. He had been saying that she was just a friend and a colleague because he was scared, but he had never felt this way before and was afraid he would mess it up.

During the wedding ceremony, he looked around at everyone and realized that he had won the Stanley Cup this year, but he still felt off. He kept thinking about her - how her laughter made him want to make her laugh again, how her smile warmed his chest, and how he could still feel the tingle where their skin had touched even after she left.

He admitted that he had never been sure if he had truly been in love before, and maybe this was it. He thought they owed it to themselves to find out because he believed she might feel the same way. He knew it might not be the most rational decision, but it was everything he had to say.

Feeling a shaky breath escape her lips, she heard the voice in her mind, "Don't stand in the way of your own happiness, dear. Life is too short." For the first time on this trip, she felt her mind still and smiled as she closed the distance between them. With her chest pressed to him, she looked up at him, admiring his soft and nervous blue eyes. She reached up to cup his neck and met him in a kiss.

The kiss was gentle and soft at first, as she chastely felt their bodies slot together; his hands finding her waist, and hers fisting his suit jacket to bring him closer. After not long, she felt Nate run his tongue along her lip and she allowed herself to deepen the kiss, conveying the emotion that was hard to put into words. The feeling of his firm hands against her waist and his muscular body against hers again made her feel as though she were on fire. And she had to admit, she liked this quite a lot. Eventually, they disconnected and rested their foreheads together as they took in the moment.

“So, are you going to say something?” Nate whispered.

 “Yeah, uh, ditto,” she whispered back, giggling slightly.

“That’s it?!” he leaned back in mock horror, “After I poured my heart out, that’s all you have to say?” She could see a smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I think for the first time in your life, you have spoken enough words for both of us, Nathan,” she laughed as she gave his chin a little pinch, drawing a laugh from him as well. She leaned back in to place another firm kiss on his lips before saying, “I like you a lot too. Like a lot a lot. It scares me. But, as the kids say, you only live once, and I need to stop being scared and just see where this goes because I think I might be in love with you, Nathan, and I need to find out if I am.”

He smiled broadly; it’s the smile she loves, the one where his nose scrunches a little and she can see the genuine happiness on his face. And as their lips rejoined, she slowly started to pull him back into her hotel room.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” he says, disconnecting their lips briefly.

“Uh, right now? Sure, I guess,” she raised her eyebrow.

“Why do you always call me Nathan? Everyone always calls me Nate.” The question catches her off-guard and she laughed as she continued dragging him into your room.

“I was trying to remind myself to stay professional and not fall for you,” she laughed as she felt the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed.

“Right…That worked so well, I’ll have to remember that one for the future, Miss Charlotte,” he laughed back before kissing her again so deeply and passionately that she forgot whatever retort was on the tip of her tongue.

#Nathan mackinnon #colorado avalanche #Nathan mackinnon imagine #Colorado Avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #avs #Nathan mackinnon fic #Colorado Avalanche fic #avs imagine #avs fic #hockey imagines #rox writes

[alltaternotot]

Lucky Charm | E. Johnson

Erik Johnson X Fem!Reader

A/N: Inspired by Emily Kaplan’s interview with EJ after the Avs won the Cup. He’s so fine it’s not even funny.

CW: NSFW (blowjob, praise, exhibitionism if you squint REALLY hard), swearing, very limited knowledge of how horse racing/betting actually works, but I gave it a stab. Very VERY lightly proofread, pls excuse any mistakes, just doin this for funsies.

Word count: 2.4K

:)

<><><><>

The summers in Denver were always perfect. It was finally time to relax and enjoy the warm weather after months and months of cold ice rinks and rigorous schedules, for you and your boyfriend both. EJ could finally take a step back from his intense training and long road trips, just for a few weeks, before it was back to the grind again.

You worked as a senior consultant in a successful Denver design firm, which was also the reason you met the tall blond. He commissioned you to design his newly renovated kitchen and living space, and invited you to enjoy a glass of wine with him when all was said and done. He had given you a soul-sucking kiss on the way out the door that night, leading to the best years of your life so far.

You were high up enough in the company now, around four years down the line, that you could somewhat make your own schedule. You followed Erik’s schedule most of the time. You would work hard in the months he was on the ice, and take a few weeks in the summer to enjoy the sunshine and your boyfriend.

That’s how you found yourself here, sitting on the shaded patio, watching the water in the backyard pool ebb and flow in the breeze and reading a new book leisurely. There was nothing like enjoying the soft sound of the water and a good book to pass the time.

You shared a routine during these days. He would join you outside with a tray of food and special cocktails he liked to make, spending the day reading or playing cards with some music on. On race days, especially the ones his horses were entered in, he insisted on sitting outside with a cigar (because there was no way he was getting cigar ash on his indoor furniture) with the back door open, plus sitting on the part of the sectional that faced indoors so he could watch and still enjoy time with you.

Today was a race day, and like clockwork, you could hear Erik open the back door, the sound of the TV in the other room coming through, and his footfalls coming up behind you. He leaned against the back of the deck sectional you were seated in, squeezing the back of your neck and laying a gentle kiss on your head.

“How’s the read?” He asked, coming to sit down with a tray of sandwiches, fruit, and the drinks.

“S’good so far, I’m about halfway through.” You answered, popping a raspberry in your mouth and flipping the page, “any news on MacKinnon yet?”

Horse racing was something that seemed to escape you interest-wise. You thought the horses were absolutely stunning, but the pedigrees going back to the dawn of time and the betting Erik liked to partake in were a bit much for you. He loved it though, so you kept up with his horses at least. You had met them all on trips to California and listened to his explanations about why they were so elite, all while petting their velvety noses and giving them carrots, completely losing the conversation after their grandparents had been brought up.

“Nothing yet, the race starts in 20ish minutes. The announcers have high hopes for him though.” He said, picking up the cigar and his little silver guillotine strait cutter, “his money pool is up to 30k right now, could be a big day for us baby.”

He put the cigar into the guillotine and clipped the end off, pulling out his nice zippo and holding it up. You loved how he looked lighting up his cigars, holding the cigar between the teeth he still had and gently grasping it with his hand. You loved the way the little fire would reflect on his sunglasses and cast soft shadows on his face. Every time he blew a puff of smoke out, it made you want to melt into a puddle, but you would never tell him that.

“That one smells pretty good.” You remarked as he leaned back, pulling you up against his side, the scent of tobacco and spice wafting around you.

“I think so too. Naz gave me a few after the parade.” He said, looking up towards the tv for the stats of today’s race.

You admired his profile as he looked at the standings, watching his eyes dart across the screen behind his sunglasses and the tendril of blond hair sticking out of his backwards ball cap. You admired his nose and his cupid’s bow, watching as he blew out more smoke and let it billow around him. You quickly learned to love the way his lip fell flat where his teeth were missing too, despite your friends feigning concern for your future make-outs. You loved everything about Erik really, but moments like these really did something to you. You thought you might get caught looking for too long, so you turned back to your book and dove in once again.

Your books were to you like Erik’s horses were to him. You loved romance novels most of all, you could laugh at the worst of them and squeeze your thighs together when they got good. You learned new things about yourself because of them too, Erik more than willing to try new things when you brought them up, on the rare occasions that you did. You weren’t the most adventurous in the bedroom by any means, but you had a few things you particularly liked when Erik did or helped you do.

This particular book was on the thigh-squeezing end so far, the slow-burn where the main character falls in love with the handsome rugged cowboy (who also happened to have an affinity for cigars) after finding herself stuck in a podunk little town. It had gotten very hot very fast. Images of a tall dark and handsome man pushing the main character up against a barn door and finally kissing her after 15 chapters went flashing through your mind. You continued down the page, imagining the clothes coming off and the sloppy kisses leading up to a risky, almost-public blowjob. He topped it all off with blowing cigar smoke into her mouth while she trembled under him.

Suddenly, your skin was on fire, and you were hyper aware of Erik’s fingers gently stroking up and down your arm, and the way he looked smoking that damn cigar. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, and you breathing became more ragged and shallow.

You craned your head up and placed a kiss on his neck, then his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Your hand found his chest as you tried to sit up a little more, but Erik lifted you up just enough for a proper kiss, letting his hand fall on your shoulders, the other holding onto the cigar so he wouldn’t burn you or get ash on you.

“What’s this for baby?” He said, reaching out for another kiss, “your heart’s beating a million miles a minute…” he continued.

“Cant I kiss my boyfriend? I just felt like it…” you said, albeit with a ragged intake of breath.

He smiled a knowing smile, “did your book get good baby?”

“I just wanna kiss you…” you repeated, and he obliged with a few more kisses, noting the way a blush crept up your neck and turned your ears red like it did when you asked him to try something.

After the kiss slowed down, you laid down on the sectional, your head resting on Erik’s thick thigh. His eyes shot back to the tv again, observing the standings again. You tried to focus on your book again, but your mind traveled back to the blowjob up against the cowboy’s barn, and him blowing smoke into the main character’s mouth, your thighs squeezed together again. Erik began running a hand through your hair, brushing your scalp with his fingertips.

You placed gentle kisses on his thigh and began to slowly slide off the sectional, not wanting to take too much of Erik’s attention off the tv. You brought a pillow down with you, putting it under your knees so they wouldn’t scrape against the concrete of the patio. You reached for the knot holding his shorts up, and he inhaled sharply, his hand flying down to caress your face.

“Baby…” he said, and you continued trying to take the knot out of the tie, “baby you wanna do this now? Here?” He said, gently holding your chin so you would look up into his gaze.

You never wanted to do anything outside before now, you had a lot of anxiety about the media seeing you and Erik doing NSFW things and ruining both of your careers. He had asked before on a couple of occasions, but you found a way to steer things inside with the blinds shut. You were almost completely secluded here, it was the off-season, and it would take a real scumbag of a media person to show up at the house for a juicy scoop.

“Yeah, I want you so bad…” you said quietly, “you look so fucking hot with that cigar…” you admitted without thinking.

“You like the cigar huh?” He said, pushing his hips up so you could pull his shorts and boxers down just enough for his dick, already half hard from a few kisses and touches.

“You have no idea what you do to me with that damn thing…” you said, pressing kisses to the cut of his hip and his happy trail.

He groaned in playful frustration, spreading a little more so you fit better between his thighs. You finally grabbed his dick, running your closed hand up and down. He moaned and reached for your hair, running his fingers through it again. You stroked him until he was fully hard, watching the muscles tense under your touch.

You ran your tongue along the underside in a fat stripe, letting your spit coat his dick. You took the head in your mouth and sunk down slowly, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t take. He fisted your hair, pulling back strands so he could see your face.

He loved looking at you when you blew him, there was nothing better. He loved watching his dick disappear into your throat and how expertly you took him. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, and saw he was slack-jawed with his eyes rolled back, absorbing all of the sensations.

“Mmm baby, you look so pretty taking me like that…” he said breathily, “holy fuck your mouth feels so good.”

You hummed, sending vibrations through his dick and bringing him that much closer. He had to control himself from fucking your throat. Everything about this was hot, the sight of you on the ground for him, the wet sound of your spit, the way your mascara was starting to run in the corners of your eyes.

He watched and waited for you to look up through your eyelashes again, then took a deep inhale of the cigar and blew it out, still holding onto your hair. The smell of the cigar just heightened everything further.

Suddenly the sound of a bugle announcing the beginning of the race, and a shot accompanied by the gates holding in the horses swinging open drew your eyes to the tv. You looked up to Erik again, watching his eyebrows slightly raise as MacKinnon pulled forward by a few feet. You took him out of your mouth, spit dribbling down your chin and all over his dick, and you took a moment to breathe while you stroked.

Focusing back on Erik, you knew he was close, you could feel his hard muscles tensing. His moans were getting higher and a little louder, but not too loud, he knew that would make you nervous about people noticing. His hands ran through your hair and gently held the back of your head when you took him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, eliciting a sharp whine from him. He took another puff of the cigar, sending you into a somewhat feral effort to get him there.

“I-I’m so close baby! God you feel amazing!” He said, watching you take his dick, “you’re so good for me, treating me so well…” he praised.

You sucked gently and bobbed your head a few more times before he finally shot his load down your throat, letting you swallow it. He moaned and writhed above you, tightening his grip on your hair before letting his fist loosen so your hair fell down around your face.

You leaned your head on his thigh and took a few breaths, trying to regain some composure. Seeing you like that always made his heart skip a beat, hair tousled from his hands and lips swollen and glossy. You even had a little speck of black soot from the cigar swiped across your cheek.

He hiked his shorts back up and offered his free hand. He pulled you up to straddle his lap, taking a deep inhale of the cigar again, watching your eyes and your swollen lips. He kissed you, letting the smoke fall out of your open mouths. You were both breathing heavy as you relaxed chest to chest, head falling into the crook of his neck. He rubbed soothing circles into your back as you tried to regain your breathing.

“Holy shit! Mackinnon’s about to break into first!” Erik said somewhat tiredly, and you turned around to see his beloved horse pulling forward in the final stretch of the race.

You both cheered as MacKinnon crossed the finish line, effectively winning Erik 30 thousand dollars and more bragging rights to his racing friends. You leaned down and kissed him again, not trusting yourself to get up and stand on your jelly knees quite yet.

“We should break open a vintage bottle tonight baby, we’re celebrating!” He said, standing up with you wrapped around his waist, “you’re my lucky charm baby, maybe we should do that for every race!” He joked.

“Trust me E, I can get on board with that… just keep that cigar around…” You teased, and he laid a deep kiss on your lips.

He walked you both inside and laid you down on the couch, tray of food and drinks (and the cigar) long forgotten. His hands already traveling down your body and in your hair.

“Let me show you now much I love you, my lucky charm.”

#Erik Johnson #Erik Johnson imagine #EJ fic #Colorado Avalanche #Avs fic #pls come back bestie we miss you #T’s imagines #nhl fic

[horsesandhockeyplayers]

When Life Gives You Lemons- Part 14

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD  etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail.  These warnings are  relevant to the whole fic, not just particular  chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 4500

Word Count Total: 62,779

Author’s Note:  Huge shoutout to @newlibrary​ for the graphics and @hockeylvr59​ for the editing reads.

Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic  starts during the summer of 2019. I   will be tagging the Avs and  Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV   change. Flipping between Mark  and Clementine. This part begins with  Clementine. THERE BE SMUT.

Part Fourteen*

My stomach swooped like I was on a roller coaster, and I knew I’d forever remember this moment as the one when I fell in love with Mark Barberio, or at least one of them. There seemed to be many moments when I fell a little more in love with him.

I kissed the underside of his chin as I murmured, “You’re so full of it.”

He wrapped me up in his arms again, hugged me to his chest and shifted his hips as he replied, “I’m full of something, and I’m gonna have to go take care of it in a minute.”

Bracing a hand on his chest, I sat up. How he could toe the line between being romantic one minute and entirely asinine the next I might never know, but, much to my great dismay, it was incredibly endearing and I felt my heart squeeze in my chest. My hair fell in a curtain around me as I scooted back onto his thighs and I tilted my chin in the direction of his crotch as I whispered, “Can I?”

His grin was impossibly wide as he chuckled and informed me, “Lemon, for the record you never have to ask a dude if you can touch his junk.”

I hid behind my hair, faltering as I offered, “Ok, I just…”

I trailed off, because how to do you tell someone you’re about to be intimate with that indescribable trauma happened to you and you don’t actually KNOW what to do with a dick since you’ve never had a healthy sexual relationship before? I wasn’t exactly sure, hence why I grew quiet.

Mark settled his hands behind his head— which just accentuated his arms and chest, and I realized that it was really unfair that there are men who looked like this in real life and not just on romance novel covers and I was still halfway shocked that I was curled up on the couch with one of said men— as he responded evenly, “Lemon, just do what you want. It’s ok, I promise.  If I don’t like something I’ll tell you.”

“But I don’t want to do something you don’t like,” I bit my lip after answering. Perfection wasn’t a suggestion with Bill and I hated that I kept comparing them together because Mark was kind and wonderful and Bill was a shitstain on humanity. 

“Babe,” he countered, “I do shit you don’t like all the time. But I stop and let you adjust or call me an idiot or we talk about it. That’s how you ended up on top, remember?”

I nodded and scooted back a little farther down his thighs, trying to sit on my heels instead of his knees. He had tucked his erection under the waistband of his underwear and jeans, leaving the head of his cock sticking out; without thinking, I reached out and, with the tip of my finger, smeared around the precum that had gathered there

His breath hitched, and I heard him hiss through his teeth. He unclenched his hands from behind his head, moving them to grip the arm of the couch instead. I bit my lip, palming him through his jeans and then tentatively, unbuttoned his fly. As I slid his zipper down, I took a moment to appreciate how he was straining against his boxer briefs.

I dipped my hand under the waistband of his shorts and when I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick, his hips jerked and he swallowed a moan. The way his body responded to me made me feel a little dizzy with power; the novelty that I caused him to react that way and that I was calling the shots here was almost too much to bear, but I knew one thing for sure: it was incredibly hot and I kind of loved it. With my free hand, I shoved his underwear down and freed him completely, letting my fingertips trail up his length. His dick jumped into my hand and I enjoyed feeling him, enjoyed the velvety feel of his skin over the hardness of his erection. When I risked a glance up at him, he had sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes were intense, and laser focused on me. “Is this ok?” He nodded vigorously.

I watched him react as I stroked him, never having the opportunity to explore someone so thoroughly. Precum was dripping onto his stomach and I swiped it up with my finger and licked it off, rolling the bitter taste over my tongue. Mark’s breath hitched again and his dick twitched in my hand.

This time when he exhaled, there was a distinctive “fuck,” muttered under his breath.  Watching him straining, gripping the arm of the couch so hard I thought there would be permanent divots in the leather, I realized he was doing his best to give this completely unpressured experience to me, and as hot as this moment was already, the fact that he could be so unselfish in it, despite everything, only endeared him to me more. 

I rubbed my thumb over the head of his cock, and I saw the muscles in his jaw clench as I spread around some more of the precum that was leaking out.

“Lemon,” he choked out, “Spit in your hand.”

“What?” I asked. His words broke my trance, and even though I understood what he was saying, it took a moment for me to process the suggestion.

“Spit. In. Your. Hand,” he panted.

I did my best to gather enough saliva in my mouth before I did what he asked. The lubrication changed the texture of his skin, and he went from velvet to silk. I loved the feel of him against my hand, the easy slide of him across my palm almost hypnotic. As I stroked him, I felt him get impossibly harder.

He was trying to control the movement of his hips, but they kept jumping up underneath me, shoving the length of him through my fist completely. 

He wasn’t completely shaven, but he was trimmed and I moved my other hand to palm his scrotum, rolling his testicles in my hand. I heard him curse softly as I teased them, felt them tighten as jet of cum landed on his stomach and he groaned, “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

I had indeed stopped what I was doing to watch the cum jet out of him, but with his encouragement, I started again, stroking him through each spurt and firmly holding his balls in my other hand. 

FInally, he was done and he reached down and grabbed my wrists in his hands as he conceded, “Okay, now you can stop. Too much.”

He flopped back, sinking into the couch as he let my wrists go and with his eyes closed he rasped, “Holy shit, Lemon, that was… hot.”

It was hot and now that I wasn’t transfixed by his genitals, I was able to sit back on my heels and just look at him: his hair was disheveled from my fingers carding through it and the cross on the silver chain was resting against his chest, carving a shimmering path through all of the muscles there. I took that moment to appreciate that there were so many muscles. Even if I worked out just as much as he did, I still probably wouldn’t have half the amount of muscles— which I personally thought was unfair.

HIs abs were splattered with his cum and I gave in to the urge to reach down and trail my index finger through the milky fluid, pushing it through the valley of his abdominals. When I risked a glance at his face, he had one eye open and he was watching me carefully, his rakish eyebrow raised. “You’ve never gotten the opportunity to just enjoy someone’s body, have you?” he asked. 

Shaking my head, I impulsively licked the cum off my finger.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and wiped his stomach off before he sat up. When we were facing each other again, his hand went to the back of my head and he pulled me down for a kiss, his tongue invading my mouth almost like he was trying to lick his own cum out of it.

When he finally pulled away, I had to touch my lips to make sure they were still there. “Come on, Lemon,” he prompted, picking me up and setting me on my feet next to the couch. He made it seem so easy, even though I knew there was no way it was. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom, trying to hold his jeans up with his free hand. He ended up kicking them off in the hallway.

Once we were through the door, he pulled me forward and spun me around like we were dancing, his bed hitting the back of my knees and I fell backward onto it. I had been dreading this moment and I shut my eyes, bracing for the moment of panic I knew I would feel when he fell on top of me.

When his weight didn’t hit me right away, I opened an eye to catch him falling to his knees. He had disposed of his boxer briefs and tossed them with his shirt into a pile and I realized he had gotten fucking naked and I had missed the show.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I asked, “Barbs? What are you doing?”

He reached up to hook his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and stripped them off with my underwear in one smooth pull, throwing them in the same pile as his clothes. “I should think that is obvious,” he whispered into the skin of my thigh.

“It’s… not?”

He gave me a look I couldn’t interpret and grabbed me gently, dragging my body toward him until I was almost hanging off the bed. He arched a brow, like that was supposed to give me a clue and I shrugged, clueless. I was still unsure as to what was happening, but I wasn’t uneasy about it, which was a miracle in and of itself. 

He walked closer to me on his knees as he instructed, “Arms up.”

I lifted my arms, more as a reflex than anything, and when I settled back on my elbows, I was naked. It was the first time I had been naked with a man since my marriage, and I fought the urge to cover myself. Mark sat back on his heels for a moment and I could feel his gaze traveling up and down my body. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that I barely heard him murmur, “You are breathtaking.”

I looked down, half concerned that my body had been replaced by body snatchers. But, all I saw was the same old body I saw every day: one with a faint map of stretch marks from gaining weight too fast; battle scars, that were both literal and figurative, from fighting my marriage and myself; a smattering of cellulite, weird tan lines and broken capillaries; and assorted other imperfections that seemed to be emphasized in this moment of vulnerability. Before I could voice any of this, Mark slid his hands from my ankles to my knees and twisted them to skirt along the inside of my thighs. He ran them upwards until his thumbs found the crease along my vaginal lips, which proved to be sufficiently distracting and quieted the self-doubt racing through my brain.

When he pulled my folds apart and blew on my clit, I fell back onto the bed, a whimpered “fuck,” escaping my throat. I felt the smile on his lips as he pressed them to me and licked the length of my pussy.

I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to watch him or just lay back and enjoy the sensations. He explored me with his tongue, his fingers spreading me apart as he licked around my pussy. When he closed his lips over my clit and sucked, my hips arched into his face, and when he slid a thick finger into me, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

My orgasm hit me like a tsunami; the sensation started to rise, and suddenly I was drowning, my hips bucking wildly into his face. I swear Mark growled when he locked his free arm over my pelvis to hold me in place as he sucked my clit and finger fucked me through my orgasm. As I was coming down, he slid a second finger in with the first and the stretch caused a mini orgasm on the heels of the first. With a flat-tongued lick, he detached from my “pleasure nub,” and I suddenly understood why terrible romance novelists called it such.

He continued to slide his fingers in and out of me, leaving trails of wet opened mouth kisses along my thighs until I relaxed completely, the occasional tremor shaking my body. 

When he slipped his fingers out of me, he sucked them into his mouth to clean them off before crawling over me and resting against the pillows; once situated, he hauled me up his body and arranged me half on top of him, his dick resting along my thigh.

With our naked bodies like this, it painted a stark picture of how different we were. HIs body was thick and toned. I don’t think he had one tiny cell of fat on him and his skin was a dark olive after having been in the sun all summer. I, on the other hand, looked like poorly proven sourdough bread that Paul Hollywood would have been ashamed of… with blue hair.

I felt Mark take a breath below my ear as he whispered in it, “Was that ok? I don’t want to brag, but I have been told I’m pretty good at that.”

I stretched my jaw a bit, willing the muscles to work since all of them felt like they had the integrity of wet cardboard. “I don’t have anything to compare it to,” I ventured, “So you could be the absolute worst in the world, but if that’s the worst, then the best might kill me.”

He went completely still beneath me as he processed my response, taking a moment before he responded, “What do you mean you don’t have anything to compare it to?”

I set my chin on his chest and looked up at him as I clarified, “I’ve never experienced that before?”

He looked a little shocked, and rubbed the hand that wasn’t cradling my ass down his beard as he thought that over. “Never tell Landy this,” he murmured, “but I’m actually at a loss for words.”

I shrugged. “Honestly,” I admitted, “If getting that as my first time meant I didn’t get it other times, I think I’m ok with that.” Mark smiled down at me and I returned the smile before I schooled my face into a more stern expression and continued, “Also, please don’t even mention Landy again while we’re naked, in bed together, or naked in bed together. ”

Mark’s face softened and he kissed the top of my head, chuckling lightly and he concluded, “Well, Lemon, I was glad to give it to you.”

His cock was still hard against my hip, and I ran a finger up the length of him as I began, “You’re still..”

“Mmmhmm.” I felt his chest rumble as he responded.

I looked at him inquisitively, “can I?”

He just looked amused as he answered, “Babe, if it involves you and my dick, I’m going to have very few restrictions.”

I bit my lip and straddled his thighs again, mimicking our position on the couch earlier.

“Do you have… you know?” I hoped he would know.

Mark’s face was caught up in a grin as he answered the question I couldn’t finish, nodding as he informed me, “your inability to finish sentences when referring to anything about sex is adorable.” His long arm reached up and he somehow dug a condom out of the drawer of his nightstand and tossed it near my knee. “Knock yourself out, babe.”

Suddenly faced with a hard dick, a man with his hands folded behind his head, and a condom, I didn’t know what to do or where to start. I looked up at him for guidance and he just shook his head as he told me, “This is your show, Lemon. No judgment.”

I bit my lip and traced the outline of his testicles in his scrotum, fascinated when the skin drew up tight in response to the stimulation. Mark sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t react otherwise. I was nervous all of a sudden and the moment felt charged, in a different way than it had earlier; some of the urgency was gone, and we had all the time in the world, which meant there was plenty of time for me to prove I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to throw all of that at him right now so I just said simply, “You have to tell me what you like.”

“Clementine, you are naked, on top of me, playing with my junk… I like all of this.” He made no effort to hide his amusement. 

I wrapped my hand around his balls and rolled them between my fingers, causing another sharp inhale from Mark and and an exhaled “fuck.”

His dick twitched against his stomach, the tip leaking clear fluid onto his skin. Letting go of him, I scooped it up with a finger and sucked it off. 

His big body squirmed beneath me as he groaned, “Fuck, you are killing me, do you know that?”

Comments like that filled me with confidence and made it easy for me to toss aside all of my hesitation and it occurred to me I should thank him for that later. Feeling reinvigorated and embracing my newly-found inclination for power, I teased him, “You taste good. I didn’t know you could taste good.” I may or may not have made a show of licking my lips to prove my point.

He threw his head back and moaned.

I ripped the condom wrapper with my teeth, gripping his length in one hand and rolling the condom down it with the other. I let him slap back against his stomach and he twitched again as he cursed, “Damnit, Lemon.”

I gave him a sickly sweet smile. Had he not looked so incredibly good imbued with such a level of desperation, this wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as it was.

“Oh, she’s playing now,” he chirped at me, before looking at me dead in the eyes and stating, “If you had a different past, this would be going way differently.”

 I moved forward, feeling the length of him settle between my pussy lips and I rolled my hips, the friction so good that I swear I could feel it in every inch of my body. The crown of his head dragged against my clit and I moaned as I asked him, “What would you do differently, Barbs?”

As I slid along the length of him again, coating him in copious amounts of my wetness, he hissed, choking out, “We wouldn’t have made it this far; for one, because I would have fucked you over the back of the couch.”

“Oh?” I quipped. I honestly didn’t know being this turned on was even possible and my hands went to my breasts of their own accord, holding them in my hands and rolling both nipples between my fingers.

Mark slammed his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, as he took a deep breath and rasped, “Fuck babe, this is better than literally every fantasy I’ve ever had about you.”

“Really?” I breathed, rocking against him, enjoying hearing him say it. “I’m not really even doing anything…” As the pleasure coursed through my body, I could hear my voice falter and I was pretty sure that Mark was almost at a breaking point, if the tremor I could feel in his thighs underneath me was any indication.

“Really,” he confirmed, as I kept up my steady grind against him, his breath shallow as he continued, “What you’re doing is…..so fucking hot…” I felt him twitch against me as he confessed, “The only thing that could possibly make this better would be if I was inside of you.”

I raised up off of him and the action caused him to open one eye. Reaching between us, I angled his cock just right and started to sink down on it, pausing every few millimeters. Mark arched a brow at me as he watched, admitting, “Lemon, if you want me to beg for it, all you have to do is ask. But since you haven’t, I gotta know, are you trying to kill me?”

I shook my head, realizing that we were on two separate pages regarding my slow pace. “No,” I told him, “I’m just waiting for it to hurt.”

Mark looked at me pointedly and sat up, his arm sliding behind my thighs to prevent me from sliding down on him any farther. “Okay,” he began, “First of all, I think we need a rule: we don’t talk about previous experiences while we’re having NEW ones. Second of all, sex shouldn’t hurt EVER. I mean, unless it’s on purpose and you’re into that kind of thing. If you’re not into that, then it should never hurt. Do you understand me, Clementine?” His voice was firm and once again I had the feeling I may have trivialized something that wasn’t really trivial. 

I nodded because I couldn’t do anything else. 

He pulled me off of his cock and slid us both up the bed until his torso was resting against the headboard. 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Mark smiled at me ruefully, bringing his lips to my neck as he whispered into my hair, “I thought I just needed to let you figure things out for yourself, but it has become glaringly obvious I need to be an active participant.”

My voice was soft as I responded, half scared and half confused, “I don’t know what you mean.”

We were still pressed closely together, and his hands trailed over my naked body, fingers teasing my nipples, as he directed me, “Kiss me, Lemon.”

I leaned forward and he moved his hands to knot in my hair, my breasts pressed against the hair on his chest as I kissed him. I kissed him deeply, trying to convey with my tongue just how much this all meant to me. 

As we kissed, one of his hands slid between our bodies, his fingers slipping between my pussy lips and softly rubbing my clit. I may have mewled into his mouth, but I’d perjure myself in a court of law denying that. 

While I was rocking into his hand, he grabbed his dick and angled it just right so that the tip slid into me as I rolled my hips. The sensation made me gasp, and I rocked harder, needing more.

“That’s it, babe,” he murmured, “That’s it.” His hands were on my hips, guiding me. I curled my hands into fists on his chest, wishing his hair was long enough to grab like this, but it was still short from a summer wax.

I needed him, I needed to feel full. I slammed myself down on him and he cursed in response, cautioning, “Fuck. Easy, babe.”

“Mark, please,” I whimpered, “I need more. I need you.” My hands unclenched, and I dug my fingers into his chest desperately.

His hands tightened on my hips as his punched up forcefully and he confirmed, “Ok?”

I nodded, almost delirious with pleasure as I begged, “More.”

He set a quick rhythm with his hips, and soon all that filled the room was the squelch of our bodies coming together and our sharp breaths. 

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” he groaned, “Tine, touch yourself.”

One of his hands left my hips and he took my fingers and pressed them to my clit, “Cum with me,” he urged.

“I can’t,” I choked out.

“You can,” he encouraged, “Look at me.” 

My eyes met his and he held my gaze as he continued, “I’m gonna get tested by the team doc tomorrow, because I can’t wait to fuck you skin to skin and fill you with my cum. I can’t wait to make you mine so you never have to worry about a man hurting you ever again. Even me.”

My voice was a whisper, as I whined out “Holy shit.”

“Now fucking cum with me, Clementine.” He punched his hips up hard and I came apart in a million pieces, like a stained glass window shattering from a bomb. He thrust into me irregularly until he sagged against the headboard and cradled me to his chest. 

We lay there in a sweaty mess, panting, until I broke the silence, and repeated, “You want to fill me with your cum?”

“Lemon, I swear to God, if you ruin this perfectly good moment with some self-deprecating sarcastic comment, I’m going to tell Landy you think his magic is dumb.”

I gasped in horror, “You wouldn’t. Also, again with mentioning Landy in bed!!!”

He kissed the top of my head chuckling, “You know I would. Now, just lay there and be quiet and soak in the moment.”

We were quiet again for a long time, long enough that the sweat was starting to dry on my skin and giving me goosebumps. I shivered, and this time it was Mark who broke the silence, asking “Does Daze need dinner or something?”

At the mention of dinner, my stomach growled. “Probably,” I guessed, “I know I need dinner. Why?”

I looked up at Mark and he was staring in the direction of the door as he told me, “Because she’s been quietly staring at me since we finished. Honestly, she started even before that, and if you weren’t half as hot as you are, I wouldn’t have been able to finish.”

I chuckled against his chest and sat up, pulling my leg over him, intimately feeling the loss of him inside me. “I’ll go feed her if you order pizza,” I offered.

Grabbing his shirt from earlier off the floor, I pulled it on, though it hugged my body a little more than I would have liked.

“Babe,” he sighed, “That one is covered in cum, grab a clean one out of the drawer.”

I gave him a saucy wink as I sashayed out of the room, shouting behind me, “Maybe I wanna be covered in your cum.”

He fell over into the pillows laughing and I heard him grumble, “Fucking minx.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

#Mark Barberio #mark barberio imagine #mark barberio fic #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche rpf #avs #Avs fic #avs imagine #avs rpf #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl rpf #When Life Gives You Lemons #Clemberio #WLGYL

[spine-buster]

That Which We Are, We Are | Nathan MacKinnon | Chapter 6

gif credit @/joeydaccord

A/N: IT'S THE AFTERMATH Y'ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR

Nate wasn’t going to let Sorcha get away with what she’d done. Not by a long shot. So after he rushed through his house, put a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, gargled some mouth wash, and changed into some respectable clothes, he packed Cox into his car and headed for Halifax.

His jaw was clenched in anger the entire drive into the city. They’d had such a great night together, eating and dancing and talking about hip-hop music, getting closer and telling each other things from deep in their hearts, and then she up and leaves? Just flat-out escapes his house undetected with her dog and books it back home somehow, even though they’re in the middle of fucking nowhere? Sure, the sex was definitely unexpected, and a by-product of how much alcohol they’d consumed, but…well…despite all the wine, Nate knew what he was doing when he kissed her. He knew what he was doing when he groped her or squeezed her ass. He’d acted on impulse but he’d been wanting to do it for a while.

It was still fairly early in the morning when he arrived at her place, and when he did, he banged on the door loudly. He wasn’t going to hide his emotions. They were open and honest with each other from the beginning, and he was going to be open and honest now. He banged on the door again after a few seconds when she didn’t answer, and his impatience got the best of him as he pounded again not long after. Maybe she was ignoring him now. Because she had to have known that he’d be angry at her escape. Maybe she was—

—Wait.

Juno wasn’t barking. If he knew anything about German shepherds and Juno specifically, he knew she would bark at the door. She wasn’t.

Sorcha wasn’t home.

He swore under his breath before marching back to his car. He hit the steering wheel in frustration and let out a loud “Fuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!” to try and release some steam. He took out his phone to call her. It rang until it went to voicemail. He called again immediately after, only for it to ring until it went to voicemail again. When he called for a third time, it rang only twice before going to voicemail, which meant she saw his name appear on Caller ID and refused the call.

Well, at least she was fucking alive.

Nate huffed and puffed as he started his car. He knew that she had to come back to her apartment from wherever she was at some point, but he wasn’t going to stake it out like some sort of undercover cop. He had better shit to do, like think about other ways he could try to contact her and ask her what the fuck was going on. Work email? Texts? Those could all be ignored. Those could also be used against him in a court of law, so they were nixed. More phone calls, maybe? Whatever Nate ended up choosing, he knew that she was at least going to get a rude awakening at work on Monday morning, that was for sure. Until then, he knew that his temper couldn’t get the best of him. He knew that he needed to calm down and actually think about what he was going to say to her besides just yelling and screaming. He began the drive to his parents’ house, knowing that just their presence alone would be able to calm him down. Plus, it was prime breakfast time. Maybe he’d talk to his dad about it, and he’d give some wise words of advice. He always did.

As Nate drove out to Cole Harbour, the streets of the neighbourhood he grew up in were all too familiar to him. Even them alone calmed him, since they brought back so many happy memories. As he turned on to his parents’ street, he drove by many of the houses of his friends from elementary school. He still remembered them all, even though friends had moved out long ago and only parents really remained. Caitlin’s house. Alex’s house. David’s house. Sorcha’s house. Ryan’s house. Scott’s house.

Sorcha’s house.

Sorcha’s house!!!

He stopped so fast and heavy on the brake pedal that his tired screeched. He put his car in reverse and backed up until he was right in front of their house, where he could see two cars out on the driveway. One, a BMW SUV, he knew for sure was her step-dad’s. The other, a black Civic, he knew for a fact was Sorcha’s. She’d mentioned it before.

The absolute nerve.

He parked in the driveway right behind her car, less than a centimetre from her bumper so she had no way out, at least by car. He took a deep breath to calm himself before getting out of the car and approaching the front door. He knocked politely instead of banging on the door like he did at her apartment, and almost immediately, he heard Juno barking.

Bingo.

After a few moments, he heard the front door unlock. When it opened, he came face-to-face with Dr. Dagar and Juno sniffing at his legs. Dr. Dagar’s face lit up at who was standing on his front porch. Clearly he watched hockey, or at the very least, remembered Nate. “Well look who it is!” he smiled.

“Hello Mr. Ibrahim,” Nate said politely. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well now that I see an NHL superstar on my front door,” he joked.

Nate chuckled. “I’m sorry to bother you this early – I’m sure you and Mrs. Ibrahim are having breakfast—”

“—we are,” Dr. Dagar said. “Would you like to join us?”

“Oh no no no, I couldn’t—”

“—nonsense! You actually came at the perfect time. Sorcha is here too,” he revealed. “She’s mentioned you recently reconnected. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you at the breakfast table,” he said, moving out of the way so Nate could step in to the foyer. “What brings you here, anyway?”

Sure she wouldn’t mind him at the breakfast table, eh? Nate would bet his entire earnings on the opposite of that being true. Regardless, Nate had to be quick on his feet. “Oh, well, we were actually hanging out the other day and she forgot something—and—and I was going to wait until I saw her again, but I figured she probably needed it sooner, and I was on my way to visit my parents, and—”

“—Say no more. Come, come, come,” Dr. Dagar motioned. Nate took off his shoes and followed Dr. Dagar through the house. For how long they lived there, and for how long Nate and Sorcha had been in school together, he’d never been inside the house. It was nice, and very homey, and reminded him a lot of the house he grew up in. There were pictures of the family smiling everywhere in frames. Juno trotted along beside them, and Nate could hear Mrs. Ibrahim and Sorcha talking.

When he showed up in the doorway, her face dropped. “Hello,” he smiled, more so at Mrs. Ibrahim than at Sorcha.

“We have a guest!” Dr. Dagar announced, extending his arms like a magician.

“Oh! Nathan! It’s you!” Mrs. Ibrahim exclaimed happily, getting up from her seat and walking straight over to him for a hug. “How are you? Come in, come in! Take a seat!”

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced—”

“—Nonsense! Sit! We have more than enough,” she said, even going so far as to pull out a seat from him, directly across from Sorcha, who was giving him a death glare. “Do you like scrambled eggs, Nathan? We have turkey bacon, too, because Dagar doesn’t eat pork, of course.”

“Both sound great, Mrs. Ibrahim.”

“It’s Maryanne, Nathan. You know that.”

“I think if my parents found out I called you anything besides Mrs. Ibrahim they’d smack me upside the head,” he joked.

Both Dr. Dagar and Mrs, Ibrahim let out hearty laughs. Sorcha was still giving him a death glare. Clearly there was no charming her, despite not needing to be charmed – it was her who would have to explain herself sooner rather than later. “How are Graham and Kathy doing? We see them every so often walking the goldens. Do they come visit you in Colorado?”

“They’re doing great, thanks for asking,” Nathan said as he watched Maryanne scoop heaps of scrambled eggs onto his plate. He made sure he looked at Sorcha’s plate and saw she was already done her breakfast. He planned to scarf his down so they could get out of there as soon as possible. “And yeah, they come visit quite often. Not as often as when I first started living alone, but—well, you know—”

“Can you believe Nate still didn’t know how to boil pasta at, like, 21?” were the first words out of Sorcha’s mouth since he walked into the Ibrahim household. “He was telling me one night at dinner.”

Before Mr. or Mrs. Ibrahim could say anything, Nate piped up, knowing he’d have to take the shot until he was able to get Sorcha alone. “I was a spoiled hockey player, what can I say,” he shrugged playfully, looking at her. “Not as good a cook as you are. That panzanella you made yesterday was incredible.”

Sorcha’s face dropped. Checkmate. He wasn’t fucking around.

“Oh! You two hung out yesterday?” Mrs. Ibrahim looked between the two. “How lovely! What did you do?”

“We just hung out at my place on Grand Lake,” Nate answered quickly, before Sorcha could lie. He watched as she squirmed in her seat.

“What did she forget that you have to return?” Dr. Dagar asked.

“Juno’s kennel,” he said. He wasn’t lying – she really did forget the kennel, and it was in the trunk of his car.

“Well, it’s nice to see you two reconnecting,” Mrs. Ibrahim said. “All those years in elementary and high school together – even growing up on the same street – and you never became friends.”

“Yeah. We have so much in common that we never realized. I think we’re making up for lost time now,” Nate replied, eyeing Sorcha. “Don’t you think?”

She was going to kill him. “Absolutely.”

Nate carried on a polite conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim until he stuffed the last forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Sorcha stayed silent for most of it, eyeing Nate whenever he said something. It was only when Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim began clearing the table and bringing everything to the kitchen that they got even a few seconds alone. “So are we going to talk or what?” Nate asked quickly.

“Do we have to?”

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t think she would have this immaturity in her. He would have to call the shots here. “Looks like I’m coming over yours when we’re done here,” he said.

“Nate, would you like some coffee, dear?” Mrs. Ibrahim called out from the kitchen.

“We’ve both gotta go, mom,” Sorcha said. “Nate does workouts in the mornings with Andy O’Brien.”

“Are you saying that name as if we should know who he is?” Dr. Dagar asked.

Sorcha smiled – a real, genuine smile for her step-dad. “No. Sorry dad. Don’t worry. But Nate’s gotta go.”

Nate and Sorcha said their goodbyes, and Mr. and Mrs. Ibrahim gave him warm hugs and told him to say hello to his parents, because of course they did, because they were good people, before he descended down the front porch steps. Sorcha followed him with Juno on a leash. It was only when they got to his car, parked on the street, that she said anything. They were far enough away that her parents wouldn’t hear her. “I guess I’ll see you at mine?” she asked as he popped his trunk.

“Of course. You’re not getting away with this,” he told her.

“I was hoping I could.”

“And why is that?”

Sorcha didn’t answer. She pulled Juno’s kennel out of his trunk and didn’t even meet his eye. “You remember your way, yeah?”

“Duh. It was just fucking yesterday, Sorsh.”

She didn’t say another word. Instead, she carried the kennel to her car, shoved it in the trunk, and loaded Juno into the backseat carrier. Nate watched the whole thing until he saw Sorcha walk over to the driver’s side and wave goodbye at her parents. Nate waved too before getting into his car. He drove off without waiting for Sorcha.

They arrived at her apartment at the same time. And without saying a word, they got out of their cars. Juno was none the wiser, wagging her tail at Nate. It was only when Sorcha stuck her key in the door that Juno became preoccupied with something else. When Nate followed Sorcha through the doorway and stepped through the entrance, he was surprised at how big and open her apartment was. He knew she described it as a loft, but he felt like a lot of people said ‘loft’ when they really just meant ‘big window’. This wasn’t that – this was a true loft. And the first thing that he noticed wasn’t the kitchen or the view or anything like that. It was the art. Her art. Scattered everywhere. Some hanging on the wall. Some on easels. Some stacked against a wall. Some sketches taped with painter’s tape. And they were beautiful, too – some portraits and others landscapes, so colourful and creative and beautiful.

“Wow,” Nate mumbled under his breath.

“What?” Sorcha deadpanned.

He hesitated, wondering if he should even bring it up. When he first asked about seeing her art many weeks ago, at their oyster dinner, she’d said “maybe” and that was it. There hadn’t been an invitation since – not that Nate asked or pestered her about it, though she’d brought up her art since then. Nate knew art was personal and for Sorcha specifically, it was an outlet where she could express herself after years of not being able to. “Your art,” he said, pointing haphazardly towards a stack of canvases on the furthest wall. “You’ve never let me see it before. It's incredible.”

“Thanks,” Sorcha said, her voice tight. “It was all I was doing in my sketchbooks while your friends were making whale sounds every time they saw me.”

Nate’s body stiffened. After Shane’s asinine behaviour last week at his house, Nate didn’t know when he’d not be able to cringe or get angry anytime someone brought up a memory from the past. “Sorsh, I—”

“—Don’t—I—it’s okay,” she waved him off. “That was—I don’t even know what I was thinking saying that. Just forget I said it.”

Nate stared at her, and in a gentle voice, he asked, “So are we gonna talk?”

It was the first time since Nate reconnected with her that Sorcha looked nervous. “What’s there to talk about?” she asked. He could tell she was attempting to make her voice sound void of emotion, but he knew that wasn’t the case. “We were two drunk idiots who had sex. It’s not that deep.”

Nate furrowed his brows. “What’s your deal?” he demanded. “Why would you say something like that?”

It was time for Sorcha to give him a look. “Because it’s true?” she said. “What else would it be? I freaked out, okay? I’ll admit that. I woke up at like three in the morning with a pounding headache and with you lying beside me in bed, and I freaked out. I grabbed my clothes, grabbed Juno, and got the hell outta dodge. And maybe it wasn’t the smartest decision to make, but it was the decision I made—”

“Sorsh, come ooonnn,” he lamented, walking towards her so they were now close. Nate couldn’t believe she was being so dense. But then a thought suddenly entered his mind. “Wait…” he said. “That wasn’t…that wasn’t your first time having sex, was it?”

If the beauty of Helen of Troy’s face could launch a thousand ships, then the scowl on Sorcha’s could have launched a million. “Oh, fuck off, Nathan!” she screamed. “Of course that wasn’t my first time, you idiot!!!”

“Then why are you freaking out so much?!” he demanded. “Why are you straight up refusing to talk to me?!”

“We were two drunk idiots, Nate. That’s it,” she said – trying to say it definitively. “We slept together because we were two drunk idiots.”

“I didn’t sleep with you because we were two drunk idiots,” he said. “I slept with you because I like you, Sorcha. Because I’m into you.”

They let the words hang in the air as they stared at each other with strained looks on their faces – Nate because he’d just revealed what he revealed to Sorcha, and Sorcha because…well, for all her confidence, there was still some shock in hearing the words be said out loud. “You’re what?” she asked.

“Do I have to spell it out?”

“Did you just say out loud that you’re into me?”

“I haven’t made it obvious in the past weeks?” Nate countered. “Every lunch or dinner we’ve had, every walk, inviting you up to my place…you honestly had no idea?”

“Nate…come on,” she almost begged. “I—you—you can’t be serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious about this?”

It was clear to Sorcha that Nate wasn’t joking – he was being completely serious. She knew what her feelings were, and now? To hear his too? That they were the same feelings she was having, the same feelings she’d felt for weeks? She didn’t think it was possible. She knew they had a lot in common now, that everything was going fine and dandy, but this? This? And it wasn’t because she didn’t think she was worthy of romantic feelings from Nathan MacKinnon – she knew she was totally worthy – it was because she didn’t think he’d ever say it. It was one thing to have feelings for the fat girl; it was another to admit it out loud. Usually people hid their feelings out of embarrassment, feeling shame for having feelings for someone that society didn’t deem conventionally attractive. But not Nate. The urge within her to deflect momentarily became stronger than her will to accept. “I don’t think I—”

Sorcha wasn’t able to finish her thought because Nate had kissed her. It was like those scenes in movies where couples were fighting and one of them shut the other up with a kiss. Except she and Nate weren’t a couple. Sorcha always thought that if that ever happened to her, she’d push the person away and yell at them for interrupting her. She still believed she would if it were anyone else besides Nate. With Nate, she didn’t. She didn’t push, she didn’t pull away, she didn’t do anything except kiss him back after quickly getting over the initial shock. His lips felt just as nice as they did last night. And she wanted his lips on hers. She did.

When Nate pulled away, their foreheads still together keeping them close, Sorcha gulped. “That felt good.”

Nate kissed her again, knowing she’d enjoy it. This time, instead of taking time to acclimatize, she kissed him back right away. They kissed again for a while before Sorcha pulled away. “I don’t think I should be hooking up with a guy who was complicit in my bullying,” she mumbled.

Nate kissed her again. He knew that was a lie. That she was just making up excuses so she could hear the sound of her own voice. So she could justify to herself…what exactly? She said she forgave him a long time ago. Twice. Three times, Nate thought.

Sorcha broke away again, far enough to look at Nate. “I didn’t mean that,” she mumbled again.

“I know you didn’t,” he said. “Will you just shut up and let me kiss you now?”

They kissed each other. Over and over and over. Over and over and over until Nate had to take a breath, over and over until Sorcha had to take a breath, over and over until she jumped and sat on her counter, over and over until Nate stood between her legs, over and over until their hands wandered along each other’s bodies, over and over until Sorcha ran her hands through Nate’s hair, over and over until – finally – they needed to take a serious breather or else they’d both pass out from a lack of oxygen.

Their foreheads were still pressed against each other’s. They were silent – only able to hear the sounds of their own breathing – before Sorcha spoke. “This isn’t much of a talk.”

Nate snorted, and Sorcha giggled, and soon they were laughing at the ridiculousness of her comment. “I think we’re doing pretty okay,” he commented.

“I’ll say.”

They were silent again. Nate brought his hand up, from her hip, and cupped the side of her face. “For the record,” he whispered, “I’ve changed just as much as you.”

Sorcha nodded. “I know,” her voice was soft. “I know you have. I was just being an idiot. I’m sorry. Our history is just a bit, well…muddled. I know we’ve been having a great time together, but it still came as a bit of a shock when you, like, said the words out loud. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I know that neither of us were expecting this when I showed up at your work asking you out for lunch. But I wouldn’t say something if I didn’t, like, mean it. And I mean this. I want you to know that. Can we both at least admit that we’re into each other?”

Sorcha couldn’t help but smile slightly. “We’re into each other.”

“Finally, you say it out loud.”

“Don’t push it,” she giggled slightly.

Nate couldn’t help but kiss her again. “You know what people who are into each other do?”

“What’s that?”

“They go over to the other’s house a lot,” he said, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “And I mean like, a lot.” Kiss. “Like, on weekends.” Kiss. “Next weekend, even.” Kiss.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.” Kiss. “And maybe…”. Kiss. “They even go up on Thursday after work.” Kiss. “To get some alone time with each other.” Kiss. “Before the house party on Saturday night.”

Sorcha stiffened slightly at the revelation. “House party? Big house party? Everyone coming?”

“No. It’s not what you think,” he said. “Just Kehoe and Lucas. No Noah. No Shane. They’re not invited. But, like, Sid will be there, and I invited his best friend June, too. You’ll love her. And some of my cousins will be there. A couple of my other friends, and maybe friends of friends. But not Noah and Shane. I want you there more than anyone else. I just want you around with me.”

The last time Nate asked her to go up while others were going to be there, she said no – for obvious reasons. And though slow, Nate realized why she’d rejected the proposal. But now, with everything being out in the open, with their feelings known and the chemistry between them unmistakable, Sorcha had a different outlook on the situation. She wouldn’t just be there – she’d be there with Nate. And if it was mainly going to be Kehoe, Nate’s cousins, Sidney (who she’d probably fawn over all night, if she was being honest), and Sidney’s best friend June whom she would apparently love, then she was more than willing to go. No Noah, and especially no Shane, was like music to her ears. She cupped his face in her hands, running her thumbs along his thin lips softly. “I’ll see if I can take the day off Friday,” she whispered, making him smile.

“Perfect,” Nate smiled. “You and I are going to have so much fun, Sorcha Saint-Coeur.”

Sorcha smirked. “You’re going to get me into so much trouble, Nathan MacKinnon.”

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon fan fic #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche fan fic #nathan mackinnon blurb #colorado avalanche blurb #avs imagine #avs fic #avs fan fic #avs blurb #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #nhl blurb #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #hockey blurb #that which we are we are series

[nordalanche]

Don't Touch My Heart

Nate's always felt that there was something wrong with the way the NHL handled its feline population of goalies. In particular: the auction. But, it's not until Nate stumbles upon a silent, lonely backup chained to a table that he actually does something about it.

Relationship:

Nathan MacKinnon/Alexandar Georgiev

Characters:

Nathan MacKinnon, Alexandar Georgiev, Joe Sakic, Cale Makar, Pavel Francouz, Mikko Rantanen, Gabriel Landeskog

Additional Tags:

Goalies, Goalie Nesting (Hockey RPF), Cat/Human Hybrids, Catboys & Catgirls, Angst

#yo new fic #I have no idea what this is #What did i write #hrpf #hockey rpf #alexandar georgiev #nathan mackinnon #avs #colorado avalanche #avs fic #goalies #nordalanche.fic

[dryemiddi]

HAPPY 5TH ACCIDENTVERSARY!

#undertale au #dryeart #accidentverse #AV #Vantablack #Silence #Nightmare!Ink #Dream!Error #Nightmare sans #Dream Sans #Ink Sans #Error Sans #for courtesy of tags #been so frazzled lately I haven't gotten much done for this apart from the fic for halloween #tbh my attention is split af #i still need to come up with slight redesign for vanta to properly seperate him tho #digital art #anniversary #character birthday #maybe instead of pressuring myself to do big things I can just do like. Idea dumps instead #that might be more managable #character fusion #utmv #undertale

[johnnystorms]

avengers twilight!steve, on regrets, memories and tony stark. written post-avengers twilight #002. stevetony.

Steve has a lot of regrets. Tony—not the real one, the best friend he lost on the day he lost everything, but the one he keeps in his head, his mind’s best attempt at a ghost of the person he misses most—says that’s inevitable, living as long as Steve has.

C’mon, Cap, he says, smiling that way his Tony used to: eyes as bright as the future he was always talking about, everything in him shining. Or maybe that’s just how he looked to Steve, young enough back then to not yet have blinked the stars from his eyes. You live long enough, you run the risk of anything outweighing the good memories. His smile fades, not enough to disappear, but to become something smaller, quieter. Tinged with something requiring care. Do me a favour, handsome. Try not to let that happen to you.

Steve doesn’t like disappointing Tony Stark, not even the one dreamed up inside his head, but he thinks it might be too late on that front.

If someone asked for a list of regrets, he’d have to give that wry, hoarse laugh that makes him sound as old as he feels, and say, Nobody has time to listen to all that. If someone had asked Tony, he’d have a breathtakingly clever quip or an outpouring of guilt, depending on his mood, and who had asked. If it had been Steve, maybe both. Matt would have thought about it, long and hard, and disappeared to a confession booth. Peter – Jessica – Logan – Carol – all of them, he thinks, would have their own laundry list of hauntings, justified or otherwise.

That’s the name of the game, he thinks. You have to take the wins for what they are, but it doesn’t make the losses any lighter to bear. Steve’s posture isn’t what it used to be, even with the Defenders’ replicated super soldier serum in his veins, but his shoulders were shaking under the crushing weight of all his mistakes long before his age caught up to his body.

Janet isn’t here anymore to ask, but he doesn’t know what she’d say. It’s not that he thinks she has no regrets—even outside of the hero business, that’s a tall order for anyone—so much as that’s not how he remembers her. When he thinks of Janet van Dyne, he thinks of her deft fingers readjusting the lapel of the suit she designed and Tony cajoled him into; he thinks of her tinkling laugh almost being swallowed up by Thor’s booming one, the two of them bent double at the disgruntled expression Clint was shooting their way one golden night back when the world knew what heroes were meant to be; and he thinks of her clever, smiling mouth, and the way nobody could ever resist smiling right back. Steve had been no exception.

He misses it so fiercely it burns. Jan’s smile and Thor’s relentless steadiness and even Peter’s terrible jokes as he chased the Human Torch around the city. Carol’s quick fists and Jessica’s quick thinking and Natasha’s quick draw, and the time the three of them had a punch-up contest with the Thing that ended in an exasperated Tony footing the bill to the city and Johnny cackling as Sue dressed down Ben for his part in it. Luke’s laughter as he slung his arm over Danny’s shoulder and Jessica Jones taking photos of the two of them and Logan and Bobbi in the corner, trading tales of Hawkeye’s Greatest Hits: Indecent Exposure edition.

And Tony—always, always Tony. The press of him against Steve’s side, a reassuring line of heat, like, hey, you’re not alone anymore. You’re not cold anymore. You have a team. You have me. His tired eyes and easy smile and razor-sharp wit, even half-dead on his feet. The late nights where Steve coaxed him out of his lab with a hot drink and the promise of conversation, the early mornings where Steve would wear a worried frown and say, you should really sleep more, Tony, and Tony would grin at him and say, and give up these early mornings where you bring me coffee and those big blue eyes of yours? Never, and Steve would sigh, but there would be something fond tugging at the corner of his lips, and Tony would look all pleased with himself, animated in a way no caffeine fix could ever cause, and Steve would want—

Steve swallows.

You’re drifting, baby. It’s Jan’s voice, that classic combination of fond amusement and concern that Clint used to perk up at being addressed with and Tony used to call the van Dyne special, all those years ago. God, Steve misses them all. He aches with wanting. You’re drifting. Bring it back home, Steve. Start with the most important bit. Let’s take it from the top.

There isn’t a team to report to anymore. It is not a new fact, a new thought, but every time, it hits him like a concrete block to the ribs.

There isn’t a team to report to anymore, but Steve Rogers breathes in, and thinks about it anyway. Take it from the top. The most important things.

How the tables turn, Tony says. He’s the only one Steve keeps. All his other ghosts flit in and out of his head, coming and going like the tides, but Tony is the forever haunting. The only one his mind holds onto on a permanent basis. D’you remember, oh, all the way back near the start -- one time you asked me if it got exhausting, thinking so much.

Steve remembers. Steve has never forgotten anything Tony Stark gave him, be it physical or a vow or just the smallest memory that wasn’t intended as a secret but became one in Steve’s desperate hands. The world has taken so much from him, from all of them, ever since H-day. He can’t talk about Tony, because what if the world takes that from him too?

How the tables turn, Tony says again, soft in that way most people didn’t believe Tony Stark could be. Steve knew, though. Steve’s always known. You look exhausted, Steve. Don’t let it be so big. Just -- right now, right at this moment. What’s the call, Cap?

That was what Tony had said that day, Steve remembers. The world was on fire, and about to become a whole lot colder, and they didn’t know that, didn’t know anything about what was to come, just that this was it, this was the moment, this was the do or die, and Tony had stood at his shoulder, the armour a familiar comfort against Steve’s side, and asked, What’s the call, Cap?

An itemised list of all of Steve Rogers’ regrets would take too long, and a ranked list of all time would be impossible to decide upon when Steve has such a long memory and even longer history.

So, in its stead, Steve thinks, he’ll give Tony the right now.

STEVE ROGERS’ TOP THREE REGRETS RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT, 0142HRS, DEC 31 20XX, COUNTING DOWN:

3. Rosa. He’d deserved the slap. He’d deserved a lot of things, really. He’d had good years with Rosa; years of her no-nonsense love, of her careful hands, of the way she looked at him in the quiet of the night with all the warmth their little home could hold, like she still saw something worth believing in him. Maybe she did. He thinks she probably did. His wife was a lot of things, most of them good, but above all else, she was never a liar.

He’s sorry he blew up her life. He’s sorrier about that than the fact he blew up their life together, but that’s always the way it goes with him, isn’t it? There’s nothing he’s felt he had to keep more than the shield. It’s not that they matter less to him—God help him, but it’s not about the love. There’s never been a lack of love—but to his bones, to his core, he’s always been the guy who wants to stand up and help. If the fight needs to be had, he’s going to stand there, fists up, no matter who he is, no matter how old he is. No matter how super he is.

He knew that about himself a long time ago. Maybe if he’d stopped pretending that had changed, Rosa wouldn’t be stuck here now.

2. It’s a little one, in the scheme of things, but it also feels more important than almost anything else at this moment. He wishes he’d touched Matt, that last time they saw each other. Gone are the days where Steve would clasp his friends by the hand, something lost to time and loneliness and gradually brittled bones, but he wishes desperately that he’d clasped his hand to Matt’s shoulder one last time. Just a moment. Just enough for some phantom warmth on his palms, a tangible ghost of Daredevil, not just something dreamed up by his mind in the moments when losing almost everyone he’s ever trusted is insurmountable.

1. He doesn’t know where to begin with this one. H-day. The way it went down. Peter bleeding out in front of him. James Stark growing up without his parents, the best of them both twisted into something Steve can’t look at directly without feeling hopeless, helpless. Clint’s arrow snapped in half, a crater where the Thing should be. His last sight of Reed Richards, stretching further than he’d ever seen before as he reached out desperately towards his wife. Tony’s voice in his ear: what’s the call, Cap?

And that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? His biggest regret. This one, he suspects wouldn’t change even if it was an all-time list. Tony Stark, the vibrant, blaring truth of him. Something Steve misses so desperately that when the world forced him to live without him, he made up a version of him to keep in his head forever.

It’s more similar to #2 than he thought. He has so many regrets, and so many of them are about Tony Stark—about that day, about missing people, about loving people and losing them because of the fight, whether they were lost in the fight or he left them behind to join it—but more than anything, he thinks he misses the feeling of Tony’s hand in his, pulling him in close, arm going around Steve’s shoulder to draw him into a hug.

I’m not half as good at anything as I am when I’m doing it next to you, Tony says, years ago, so far away from this moment that it might as well have been another world, and Steve, old and jaded and lonely and tired and missing the person he loves best so fiercely it aches in his lungs, thinks, You and me both, Tony. You and me both.

You and me. You and me. You and me.

-

(When the dossier falls open in front of him, with a blueprint of a tank and photos of him—photos of Tony, and even Tony in pieces makes Steve ache with something he thought had long been buried—spill out, let’s get it from the world’s smartest man, Tony Stark echoing in his ears—

Steve, for a moment, wants to throw up.

Then his jaw sets.

All right, Tony, he thinks. He doesn’t know if he’s addressing the ghost in his head, or the one in the tank, or some nebulous third thing, a Hail Mary thrown to the universe, some last passage of faith he thought he’d forgotten. What’s the call? You and me. That’s the call. I’m getting you out of there.

I’m bringing you home.)

#stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers twilight #stony fic #read av twilight 2. talked to 616 s/t server abt it. wrote this on and off at work that day bc i keep thinking abt steve in it lol #can't wait for this to all be jossed in issue 3 LMAO #jane writes sometimes #you gave me a home #apparently this is 1.9k which is probably excessive for a tumblr ficlet but in my defence this was just meant to be the list

[light-purp-insect]

A Hesitant Rest (Zevlor BG3 x GN unspecified Tav)

Notes/warnings: SFW, fluff, domestic feelings, mentions of other companions, Astarion being himself at the end, not beta read, sleeping together (literally), slight depictions of anxiety, slight nudity (undressing in the company of another person), very light spoilers, possibly fast paced? (Read author's notes below for context), very little dialogue

This was just an excuse to write something in two days to finally put another fic on my blog, as well as hopefully an introduction for fans of Baldur's Gate 3 to send asks.

The fire of the camp was on its last embers, the bright hot orange ashes going into the sky but no crackle left. It made the little clearing have such little lighting, the only main source being an occasional lantern or candle left out near a tent before their inhabitant went to bed. That or Karlach’s internal workings giving a glow through the thin fabric of her tent, but that was always to be expected. Speaking of, I don’t even remember why I’m still up. It's not like anyone will attack us, I’ve noticed very few creatures are even interested in us. But then again, I couldn’t be certain. For all I knew, there could be a bear that wasn’t Halsin or perhaps a crazed Drow or–

You notice the dull red tip of a pointed tail of your tiefling friend, Zevlor, twitch back and forth. His eyes scanned the camp and the outskirts of the trees until falling onto you. You could see the initial shock of realizing you were awake melt into delight. The bowl of food next to him had gone cold a while ago, but so did yours. He motions for you to come closer with a hand, and you oblige without much convincing.

Eventually you find yourself on the ground next to him in silence. Your hand in his, more for his comfort than trying to be cuddly, his tail begins to become more alive. In particular his tail went from nervously flicking in the dirt to being pressed against your side and the tip swishing to pat your thigh.

“Have you been sleeping well?”

“I'm afraid not, dear.”

His voice sounded a little defeated. He had gotten older and the stress of the loss of several Hellriders still was fresh in his mind. In his mind he still felt terrible, no matter how many times you tried to convince him it wasn't his fault for having his mind essentially possessed. To be honest he wanted to sleep next to you, you knew how to handle him the best.

“I have a few extra pillows, would you-..?” He doesn't finish his sentence, hoping you would be able to take his hint. To reiterate his question, he points to his tent with a clawed finger and tilts his head slightly. Once again you oblige to his silent offers. With a slightly pained groan, he gets up from the ground and guides you away towards his tent.

Much like he had said, on the rather rudimentary mattress was a few extra pillows and an old woven blanket for the both of you. From the inside, he turns and closes the fabric flap to the tent and begins to shuck the light armor from his body. The old leather falls unceremoniously to a little corner as he stretches his back with another groan. His tail slowly swishing around behind him as he continues to undress, giving you some privacy as you do as well.

Within a short time, he has stripped down to his old and worn boxers, the hoary fabric ripped slightly along the waistband and one of the side seams had been hastily restitched quite a while ago. His once lean body had gotten softer in some areas from age, of course still having to be well maintained from his previous years of travels. He had a few pink scars littering his figure, but nothing that looked particularly gnarly or uncomfortable to live with.

Eventually he turned back to you, giving a small smile that made his nasolabial lines more visible. He had bathed next to you a few times, so you weren't anything especially new to see in little clothing. He hunkers down on the poorly made mattress and waits patiently for you to follow. “It's been a little while since I was last able to sleep next to someone.” He muttered before looking away.

When he felt the bed sink under your weight, he looked back up. His gaze softened every second you were close. He needed this, something to comfort him tonight. The two of you languidly lay your heads on the pillows, and Zevlor momentarily readjusts himself so he wasn't laying on his horns.

As the two of you lay under the covers, eyes closed and silent, you feel the dull edge of a clawed hand. Did Zevlor want to hold you? It wouldn't be anything particularly out-of-the-ordinary, after all you had been through with this adventure. From under the blanket you guide his hand against your side. He gives a thankful huff in response.

And then, something you hadn't even thought he would do had happened. You had a feeling he wanted some contact, but now he had his arms wrapped around you and cradling your head to his chest. He smelt like the leather of his armor and had the faintest hint of smoke, probably from staying by the fire for so long. The tiefling languidly entertwined the both of your legs together, finally finding the warmth he so desperately craved. And you let him, he deserved something soft for once.

“Thank you, darling.” He purred– not in a lustful or lecherous way, but an actual feline-adjacent pur. You could feel by the blanket that his tail was sleepily wagging, clearly delighted you would let him have this. A pair of lips press to the crown of your head and stay there. You finally speak once again, wanting him to hear your voice before he drifted off to bed. “You're welcome, Zevlor.”

-- -- -- --

As the pale elf came back to the camp from his feeding, he instinctively decided to check the tents of his other companions. Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, Zev– oh. Well, at least he wouldn't need to check your tent tonight. He grined at the awfully sweet sight of the both of you asleep in the other's arms. He had a feeling he would tease one of you later, but he would allow you to rest before so.

#Av writes for once #zevlor bg3 #Zevlor Baldur's Gate 3 #zevlor x tav #zevlor x reader #zevlor x you #zevlor #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fic

[silverdune]

iced oat latte, extra shot | p.sh

"could i get an iced oat latte with an extra shot, please?"

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

genre: slice of life

character(s): park seonghwa (ft. you, as a barista, kim hongjoong, kang yeosang, choi san, choi jongho)

tags: guitarist!seonghwa, barista!reader, coffee shops, meet-cute energy, first meetings, fluff, sh plays guitar for an indie band and has a brow bar piercing, 5+1 things

word count: 4.5k

summary: droopy hair, an electric guitar and an iced oat latte, extra shot; add those together and you get a handsome, wonderful guy named park seonghwa - or, the five times he visits your coffee shop, and the one time you watch his band play..

a/n: for peony, aka @hyungseos-cafe, one of my closest friends in this entire world. i love you so so so much, thank you for everything that you've done, you mean so much to me. when i thought about what to write you, i went through a few ideas until it clicked: what better for the barista (😉) than a coffee shop meet-cute?☺️🫶 (wonder why i asked whether seonghwa was your bias?🤭 hehe now you know). i really hope you enjoy this, this one's for you!

The first time he steps into your coffee shop, there's a carry case for a guitar on his shoulder.

Your eyes flicker to the door as soon as it opens. It's become a sixth sense at this point; you are always in tune to when a customer enters. Most of the time it's a regular, someone whose order you've memorised from top to bottom, but sometimes you have the pleasure of a newcomer giving your café a chance.

You run a fairly quaint coffee shop on the corner of the street. Small in scale and loved for its botanical decor, you enjoy fairly steady streams of people coming and going, either for their morning espresso shots or their midday mochas. Nothing puts a smile on your face more than the way their eyes light up as you slide their beverage across the counter, and by the end of the day, the little notebook you leave out for people to write reviews has pages filled with the kindest comments. It's even got to a stage where you'll be needing a new one soon.

The morning had been relatively quiet - expected for a Wednesday. Your regular customers had already come and gone, and your coffee shop was now going through its lull period before the afternoon rush. One glance at your watch told you it was roughly 11am, and so you’d got to work wiping the counters down when the door opened almost unexpectedly.

You had never seen this guy before. He offers an amicable smile almost instantly and it makes you do the same in return. “..Hi!” you call out to him.

“Hey..!” he replies, waltzing over to the counter before setting his carry case down. You’re automatically intrigued by it, as noted by your head tilting to the side when he leans it up against the glass shielding all the baked goods. You don’t stare for too long though, and gaze back up at him with a polite grin on your face. “Could I get an iced oat latte with an extra shot, please?”

The swiftness at which he places his orders leaves you befuddled for a time until you can coax your brain back into gear enough to press buttons on the till. “U- um- Did you say oat milk..?”

“Yes, yeah- sorry-” he says, and it hits you just then that he is quite flustered.

You take a look at his face and it’s clear he’s in a rush to go somewhere. You wonder if the guitar case has anything to do with it, but you decide not to partake in small talk for the time being. This guy has got places to be. “With an extra shot, you said..”

In the midst of digging his wallet out of his jacket, he looks up. “Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I probably spoke really fast, it’s just I overslept and am nearly late for rehearsal..” A nervous laugh escapes him as he rests his elbow on the counter.

Rehearsal.. “That’s not a problem,” you assure with sincerity. Iced oat latte with an extra shot.

You tell him the price and he takes out a few notes before resting them in your hand. You count through, then place the money in the till and give him his change before directing him further along the counter so he can wait for his drink. He thanks you kindly and picks up his case then saunters over to the other side of the display case, his eyes fixated on the coffee shop itself.

In your peripheral vision, you notice that he is studying the environment like an art critic would scrutinise a painting. Everyone who has ever wandered into your café and chosen to make any kind of comment has only had the nicest things to say about it, but something about his unwavering gaze makes your nerves spike just a little.

It only takes you thirty seconds to complete the order, and by the time you’ve set it down in front of the new customer, his eyes are back on you. He smiles wide and it’s perhaps the friendliest you have ever seen on a person. “Thank you so much.” He takes the drink appreciatively. “Can I just say, I think this place looks so cute!” The second he says it your mind settles completely. “Did you do all the decorating?”

You humbly nod, “I did, yeah.. I just really like plants, so..” You vaguely gesture around at the variety of plants and flowers dotted all over the shop, and he glances around with a small chuckle. “That pretty much formed the basis of the whole theme.”

“I love it.” He looks back at you. “I’ll bring the rest of the band here soon, I think they’d really like it.”

Band.. bite your tongue, don’t ask questions, he’s in a rush. "Well, I’ll be happy to welcome them when you do decide to invite them along.”

“Thank you so much, I’ll definitely be visiting again. Have a great day!” He walks off with the case on his shoulder and the oat latte in his right hand. You forgo an embarrassing wave - it was a hard thing to unlearn from your early days - and simply return the well wish of a good day.

As you head back to the till to take the next customer’s order, the guitarist surprises you.

“This is so good, by the way, probably the best latte I’ve ever had!” You smile and thank him. “Thank you! See you later!”

The door closes and you are left to both ring the next customer’s order through the till, and dwell on just how.. wonderfully bizarre that exchange was.

The elderly woman on the other side of the counter offers you a curved smile as she pays for her cappuccino.

You think about what the rest of the band might be like as you make her order.

×-×

The second time he steps into your coffee shop, he is less flustered than before, and there’s no carry case.

He is wearing a different outfit than before, though due to the hurried nature of the first transaction you didn’t even think of his outfit.

Today it is a simple leather jacket over a white shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is quite long and droops over his brows. There’s a hint of a brow bar tucked underneath the waves. He smiles at you as he approaches the counter. “Hi, again.”

‘Hi.. again,” you chuckle. “Same order, or something different?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Do you remember my order?”

It had been a few days since he had last come into your shop, but you could remember his order easily. “Iced oat latte with an extra shot,” you say, an almost smug grin on your lips.

His jaw drops in shock. “Wow.. I didn’t think you’d remember!”

“I’ve been running this shop for the last two years, I’ve come to memorise nearly every one of my customers orders.” A hand rests on your hip; there is a pride coursing through you that the man opposite notices straight away.

‘Well I must admit, I think that’s quite impressive.”

He seems more relaxed today. There’s less urgency, he appears to be up for a chat. You leisurely ring his order through and a lightbulb goes off in your head. “I imagine it’s similar to.. memorising guitar chords?”

His cheeks grow flushed and he eyes the floor briefly. “Ha.. Couldn’t hide the guitar case, huh?” He glances back up with a knowing look in his eyes.

The corner of your lips tilt up. “I won’t lie, it was quite the defining aspect of your entrance last week,” you joke.

He teasingly lifts his hands in defence. “Okay, okay, I admit, I play guitar for a band.. Though considering I literally mentioned my band the last time I was here, that’s not exactly a big revelation is it?” You shake your head playfully. “Damn it.”

You laugh out loud as you open the till to finalise the payment. He hands you over the exact amount this time and you pop it in before closing it.

As you both walk over to the opposite side of the counter, he picks the topic back up. “To answer your previous question, I suppose it is a bit like memorising chords. I’ve got so many up there-” he taps his temple, “and my bandmate always has me learning more. He says it’s good to flex the brain muscles but I swear I must have learned more than a hundred chords by now?”

“Holy shit- sorry..” You cover your mouth with your hand and it makes him laugh. “Shouldn’t swear in front of customers.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. How many times during rehearsals do you think I hear the frontman cuss? Answer: way too many times.”

You shake your head, a faint hint of a smile still on your lips. You finish up the latte and place it down in front of him, to which he thanks you before taking a sip. “This is seriously so good.. How do you make it so good?”

“Months of practice and good technique.”

“Typical magician, never giving away their secrets.”

You tap the side of your nose in an attempt to ignore any shyness at the comment. It’s a good thing the guitarist is walking away, otherwise he might notice that his innocuous statement is actually-

He turns to look directly at you. You hope your eyes growing three times their average size is not weird or anything.

“I never told you my name before. Might be worth knowing so you don’t just think of me as guy with the guitar for the rest of your life..”

You trample down any overt apprehension in a bid to seem cool and casual. “I don’t know, I was really betting on that nickname sticking.”

You can totally hold a normal, average conversation.

He titters at that remark. “Well, in case it doesn’t, the name’s Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa.

“Nice to meet you, Seonghwa.”

“Nice to meet you too.. N.” He draws emphasis on your name to make clear that he searched for it on your name tag. You suddenly feel its weight on your shirt. You had often wondered why you ever committed to wearing the damn thing from the start.

You look at Seonghwa. There are moments when you are reminded of the reason.

“I hope to see you again soon, Seonghwa.”

Internally, you scream. Why don’t you hide your face in the sofa while you’re at it?

Seonghwa smiles, teeth and all, and it almost sparkles against the lights in the café like a cartoonish effect. “I’ll bring the band next time, I promise.”

He leaves with that vow, and you are left to mull over exactly what you did for the universe to betray you like this.

Seonghwa’s kinda cute. And he’s a guitarist in a band. This is troubling.

You throw the cloth to one of your co-workers who had been watching this entire time and couldn’t get the grin off her face, then retire to the backroom for fifteen minutes to seriously reflect on this past week.

Had you been wondering whether he’d come back a second time? Maybe.

Did you think he would? Absolutely not.

Does he seem the type to follow through on his promises? He seems convincing enough.

Do you now have to prepare for the probability of an entire band waltzing through your door in a matter of days?

If Seonghwa is to be believed.. that's a handful more orders to remember.

×-×

The third time he steps into your coffee shop, there are four other guys with him.

You automatically assume they make up the rest of Seonghwa's band, and your thoughts are confirmed when Seonghwa steps up to the counter to greet you. “Hey, N! Told you I’d bring them along.”

When the five of them are standing directly in front of you, Seonghwa introduces his bandmates. “N, meet Hongjoong, San, Yeosang and Jongho.” He gestures to each guy as he says their names; to his left is Hongjoong, to Hongjoong's left is San, to San’s left is Yeosang, and to Yeosang’s left is Jongho.

“Hey!” You tip your head to the quartet on Seonghwa's tail and they all return the gesture in near unison. “Indeed you did; it's really nice to meet you all.”

"Pleasure's ours!" says Hongjoong. His bright blue hair was the first feature you spotted when he walked in. "We've heard you make excellent coffees."

You humbly eye the counter for a brief second before glancing back up. “Is that so?”

San pipes up, “Seonghwa told us so-” Yeosang nudges his side, and the rest of the band side eye him, most of all Seonghwa himself, who then makes eye contact with you with a nervous smile on his face.

Shyly, you drum your fingers on the side before asking, “What can I get for you all then?”

“Well, you know my order,” replies Seonghwa. His voice reaches a slightly lower octave than you’ve heard it go up to this point, and for some reason your heart skips a beat. Seonghwa clears his throat as he realises exactly how that sounded. God, does he wish the ground would swallow him whole.

You catch the way his bandmates exchange knowing looks before turning back to you..

..and you get a strong urge to hide under the counter.

Jongho speaks up to clear the awkward air, “Could I get a regular cappuccino, please?”

You tap a few buttons. “Any alternative milk?”

“No thanks,” he answers with a smile. You nod and wait for the next request.

Yeosang follows, “Regular latte for me please, do you have almond milk?”

“Almond? Yep!”

San continues, “I’ll have an.. iced americano please.”

“Iced americano..” you repeat back under your breath.

“And for me,” says Hongjoong, “just a regular iced americano as well, please.”

“So that's one cappuccino, almond latte, two iced americanos.. and one iced oat latte, extra shot.”

Seonghwa bows his head coyly at the fact you remembered. It shouldn't come as a surprise to him, and yet it makes his heart flutter a little.

This is only the third time you’ve crossed paths and already, he thinks you're incredibly kind and incredibly cute.

If only he had the courage to ask you..

“Is that everything for you?”

Your voice cuts through his thoughts and he almost fumbles over his words. “U- Uh, yeah, I think that's everything.” He confirms it with the other guys before you total up the cost. They pay for their respective drinks individually before standing to one side.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Hongjoong pulling Seonghwa away to talk to him. You don't let that distract you; their conversation is none of your business anyway.

As you get the drinks done, San steps forward and asks, “So, how long have you been running this café?”

“Oh, about two or so years.”

“Wow! Have you always wanted to open a coffee shop?” Yeosang and Jongho listen with equal interest.

Every so often, your eyes peer over their heads to the conversation between Seonghwa and Hongjoong.

You notice Seonghwa's facial expression - he seems.. exasperated?

“Um, N?” Yeosang snaps you out of your thoughts and you shake your head mildly. Damn curiosity.

“Oh, uh- ahem, well..” What was the question, what was the question.. coffee shop! “Ah! I guess it was always kind of a dream of mine? In the back of my head, I wondered what it would be like to open a cute little coffee shop. It took a lot of hard work to get here though. What about you and the band?”

Jongho answers, “That all started with those two.” He gestures to the pair behind them coming to the end of a seemingly heated discussion before arriving back at the counter. They realise everyone - including you - have turned to them and clear their throats of embarrassment.

“Is everything alright?” Hongjoong wonders.

“Oh, yeah, N just asked about us and the band,” replies San.

Seonghwa makes direct eye contact with you.

You divert your gaze and carry on making the drinks.

The air goes silent for only a few seconds and yet it feels like a few hours. Seonghwa moves to stand beside San and he can sense Hongjoong’s eyes boring into his back.

You finish making the two iced americanos and slide them across the counter. Both Hongjoong and San thank you and you move on to making the almond latte.

Hongjoong takes a sip and lets out a pleased hum, “Hm, this is really nice.” San nods in agreement. “So I guess it’s true, you do make excellent coffees.”

You chuckle under your breath, unable to ignore how Seonghwa keeps going back and forth between looking at you and staring at his hands.

It’s almost like he wants to ask you something.

Jongho brings a clenched fist to his lips and coughs into it deliberately, “Why don’t you tell them about how we started the band?”

Hongjoong and Seonghwa both lock eyes with him. Hongjoong gives Seonghwa a look then sips his americano.

Through a grit-like expression, Seonghwa turns back to you and says, “We’ve been a band for about three years. Hongjoong and I have known each other for five years, it was really his idea.”

“You were good at the guitar and I liked to write music, it felt like a no brainer,” Hongjoong explains.

You finish up the latte and pass it to Yeosang, who nods his head appreciatively. You turn back to Seonghwa and feel nerves creep up the back of your neck.

Something about the conversation they’d had left you feeling out of sorts. The way Seonghwa is looking at you now, his timid eyes and twitching lips teetering on the edge of getting something off his chest that you are most unsure of, is making you rather conscious of how slow your movements are. You make an effort to hurry through the rest of the order as you can see a queue forming across the counter.

Once the remaining two drinks are done, you hand them over and smile. Seonghwa smiles right back at you, and as the band bid you goodbye and turn to leave, you catch Hongjoong nudging Seonghwa back towards you as Seonghwa protests each gesture.

You distract yourself by tending to the next string of customers, all now rather impatient that they had to wait an extra couple of minutes while you were busy with the band. Every other second, you catch Seonghwa and Hongjoong still standing at the door, and at the very last second, they both leave.

It isn’t lost on you that Hongjoong appeared disgruntled at a display of what seemed to be stubbornness.

For the rest of your shift, you question exactly what happened between them, why Seonghwa was looking at you like that and why Hongjoong was acting the bizarre way that he was.

One thing is for certain; it wasn’t exactly the smoothest introduction to Seonghwa’s bandmates.

×-×

The fourth time he steps into your coffee shop, he stands motionless at the door for a few seconds.

You hear the bell and instantly look over, only to find Seonghwa staring out of the window with his hands on his hips.

A part of you wants to call out to him and ask if he is okay. You don’t want to tear him from his train of thought, though, so you continue wiping down the coffee machine and other such tasks that need doing during the lunch rush.

While you step out from behind the counter to clear a few tables, Seonghwa turns around to find that you have disappeared. He anxiously searches for you and spots you in the far corner of the cafe, spraying a table and cleaning it with a cloth.

He breathes in and out a few times, wondering if he should go through with what he knew he wanted to do the second time he stepped into this coffee shop.

Every day since the last time - a whole two weeks at this point - he had been thinking about how that occasion went.

Not the smoothest, he reckoned.

Hongjoong had harped on at him that if he liked you, he should just swallow his nerves and ask you.

But now, you seem preoccupied. He doesn’t want to distract you. He also doesn’t want to make a bigger fool of himself than he probably did last time.

With an exhale, he turns his back and leaves the coffee shop.

You raise your head and see the door closing behind a familiar figure, that same figure walking further and further away from your cafe.

You shrug a shoulder to yourself. Maybe you won’t get that answer.

At least you can say it was nice to meet him. He was a kind, sociable soul. You’ll think about that smile for some time.

With that in the back of your mind, you continue your shift as normal.

×-×

The fifth time he steps into your coffee shop, there’s a carry case for a guitar on his shoulder.

It had been a whole fortnight.

In truth, Seonghwa’s face had popped up in your head from time to time. You wondered if he would ever pay a visit again, just to see how you were, or maybe try one of the baked goods you’d noticed he had been eyeing each time he walked through the door.

It’s a surprise to see him again, albeit a pleasant one.

Much like the first time, he appears flustered, but for some reason this feels different.

The calm way in which he approaches the counter doesn’t invoke any urgency, and the way he casually sets his case down doesn’t impart any sense that he needs to be anywhere anytime soon.

With a deep breath, you stand behind the till and say, “Good afternoon, Seonghwa. Long time no see.”

Seonghwa grins at you. “Way too long.”

It is statements like that that suddenly make everything from a fortnight ago come flooding back.

The way he waltzed into the coffee shop then left not five minutes later.

The way it appeared that he was itching to tell you something or ask you something when he was here with the band.

The way Hongjoong was coaxing him into going back to you when they were all prepared to leave.

The way he is looking at you right now.

He is still undeniably cute. You can’t hide from that.

You also cannot hide from the fact that he is making you feel rather bashful just by gazing at you.

“Same as always?” you ask.

“As always,” he replies. You tap a few buttons. You’re about to tell him the price when he stops you in your tracks. “And a chocolate chip muffin, please.”

“One chocolate chip muffin, no problem.”

The air becomes tangible and Seonghwa wishes he could grab it and throw it out the door so he had even the slightest chance of breaking through his nerves.

“That’ll be-”

“N-”

You stare at one another.

Your eyes go wide and Seonghwa’s mouth gapes open just a little.

“Oh, sorry, um, let me..” Seonghwa takes out the cash and hands over a bit more than necessary. You take the cash and hand back the change, the words now caught in your throat as your mind goes at a million miles a minute.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath then looks up at you. “N.. You know, I really wish I had done this last time, or the time before that.. In fact even the time before that, ha..” He laughs nervously then rubs the nape of his neck. You stand completely still, unable to move or do anything when you realise that he actually does want to ask you something.

So your suspicions were right.

Seonghwa swallows the lump in his throat, gives himself a mini pep talk, then glances at you. “N. I know we’ve only crossed paths a handful of times but.. I think you’re really.. great.”

You let out the tiniest giggle and try to suppress the smile on your face.

Seonghwa grips the bridge of his nose and sighs, “God, that didn’t come out right. Basically-” He makes eye contact with you. “I wondered if you would like to come and see me and the band perform tomorrow night.”

The world stops for a second.

You stare at him, amazed.

“Oh.” It’s the only word that comes out of your mouth.

Seonghwa waits with bated breath for your response. It only takes you a couple seconds to think about it.

“I’d love to.”

That dazzling smile, teeth and all, comes running back as Seonghwa pulls a card out of his jacket pocket and gives it to you.

“That’s the venue and the time,” he says. “I’ll see you then?”

You hold the card tightly in both hands. Your heart rate has suddenly gone up; your eyes flicker up to him with a smirk.

“Absolutely.”

×-×

The first time you watch Seonghwa and his band play, you know for sure that it will not be the last.

Watching him play, you can feel the passion radiating off the stage. His voice is amazing too, serving calm backing vocals in contrast to Hongjoong’s rougher frontman energy.

You can see that he plays the rhythm guitar, while Hongjoong plays the lead, San plays the bass, Yeosang has the keyboard and Jongho has the drums. They work in perfect sync, driving rhythms and melodies straight through the floor and up to the ceiling. The atmosphere they bring is second to none, and in the back of your mind you make a note to buy an album of their music.

Every so often, Seonghwa catches your eye in the crowd. He smiles every time he sees you, and you can’t help but smile right back.

Seonghwa is so glad he finally plucked up the courage to ask you to attend.

Once the gig is done and they have said their goodbyes to the audience, you meet with the band and invite them back to the coffee shop to make them drinks.

Just like Seonghwa, you remember all of their orders.

As you hand over his iced oat latte, extra shot, he places something in your palm.

Looking down, you study the object, then immediately gaze back up at him. “Wait, is this-”

“As a thank you, for attending, and for your generosity, and for just generally being an incredibly kind person.”

You pout a little, feeling very touched, before explaining that you were planning to buy this album..

“Accept this as a gift from us to you,” he assures. You look at him again.

Seonghwa lifts his beverage to you before taking a sip of it. You chuckle and hold the album close to your chest.

You’re rather hooked on this guitarist.

Who knows? Maybe next time he steps into your coffee shop, you will have the same courage he did.

× tristeetconfus (ave). do not repost. ×

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa x reader #words.(ave) #fic: iced oat latte

[bqstqnbruin]

Ghost of You

Hello hello I'm here with a fic that might make you upset oops

This was inspired by some of @laurenairay's 1.5k follower celebration fics and Ghost of You by Five Seconds of Summer

Shoutout to @kat-hearts and @wyattjohnston for reading through this and editing/giving suggestions for this because they're amazing and then I'm tagging @matthewtkachuk and @raysofcrosby just to annoy them

Word Count: 6701

Warnings: Alcohol, Swearing, Mean

Flashbacks are in italics

_________________________________________

You told yourself it would never get serious. It was just supposed to be fun.

Yet, there you were, sitting on the floor of your bedroom feeling like you had your heart ripped out. Your friends told you not to date him, not to get close to him, that there was nothing good that could come from being with him. He wasn’t at the point of wanting to commit to anyone. You thought you wanted the same. 

He was just supposed to be a hookup. 

There was no reason why a fucking social media post should be bothering you the way it did. 

Fuck it. You had time off work banked, you had a car with a tank at least half full of gas from what you remembered, and your mom had just complained that she had hotel points she was going to lose and practically begged you to take off her hands, and you had always wanted to go to Vail, your friends telling you how much fun they had the last time they went without you. 

What better way to get over someone than by just running away from everyone else? 

Your phone was lighting up every few minutes with texts in the group chat, the one that didn’t have him in it, calls from your friends, his teammates, all of them worried about where you were and why you weren’t answering. You were glad someone was worried about you, but you couldn’t pull yourself together long enough to answer their calls or look at their texts without breaking down into that horrible, gut-wrenching sob, the kind that drove you to the point of dry heaving. 

Cale told you he liked you. He told you that he felt a way about you that he didn’t know how to put into words. He looked at you and said he could see himself with you for a while when he hadn’t thought that about anyone, at least not in a long time. 

He didn’t have to tell you he was seeing other girls and that he needed space. He didn’t  need to send the text telling you that he thought it would be better for both of you if you didn’t want to talk anymore because he didn’t want to lead you on. He didn’t have to let you believe that everything he had told you was true, letting you fall for him the way you thought he was falling for you. 

You turned your phone on Do Not Disturb, your lack of ability to know where you’re going and which way you’re heading barring you from turning off your phone completely. All you could do was grab the bag you packed for the weekend, fill up your car with gas, and hit the road for the hour and a half road trip to the hotel in Vail. 

You take one last look through your apartment, the normal “what if I left this plugged in/on and it caught on fire?” panic setting through you in the minutes before you want to leave when you notice the coffee cup sitting there on your kitchen table. 

Cale spent his first night at your place not long after you started seeing each other. You weren’t even really sure if what you were doing was considered dating by the day’s standards, just knowing you were somewhat ‘together.’ You two were out late at a bar with his teammates and some of your friends the night before, Cale insisting on walking you back to your place to make sure you were home safe, not worried about practice the next morning for once in his life. 

The two of you spent the night talking, your laptop perched at the edge of your bed, Cale with his arm pulling you close while your head rested on his chest, his heart beat making you tired with the steady rhythm. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until his alarm was going off that following morning, the two of you entangled in each other and neither of you wanting to move from where you were. 

“You have to get ready for practice,” you whispered, feeling his arms pull you closer when you didn’t think that was possible. 

“I have time,” he murmured against your forehead, a light kiss placed there that made you melt in ways you didn’t know you could. 

“I’m not going to be responsible for you being late,” you tell him, trying to pull away. You had to start getting ready for your day, too, his alarm only making you do it much earlier than you had planned. “Plus, I need coffee.”

Cale mumbled something again, you managing to get yourself free of him, turning around to see his arms still reaching out for you to come back. “No, stay here,” he whined.

“Cale.”

“Please?” 

“I’m making coffee.” 

You laugh to yourself as you hear him calling for you, the coffee pot coming to life and the smell of the drink filling your nose, when you feel Cale’s arms snake around your waist, planting soft kisses along your neck and working his way up to your jaw. You turned your head slightly towards him, his grip tightening as his lips find yours. You turn your body completely to face him, your back arching against the counter as he kisses you harder, a smile on his lips as they make their way back down your neck, your hands making their way to his hair as a small groan leaves his lips when you give it a slight tug. 

“I don’t want to leave,” he tells you, another kiss planted on your lips. 

“You have to, though,” you lament, the coffee behind you finally ready. You turn around with his arms still around you, reaching for the cabinet where you keep an unnecessary amount of mugs that are almost never used. “Which one do you want?”

You held in front of him the two most ridiculous mugs that you had, knowing that the laugh about to come out of him would easily be your new favorite sound. One mug was made in the shape of a bulldog’s head, something your dad claimed he got when he was visiting a friend at Georgetown, but there’s no way a university with that much intelligence would sell something like that, the other one something that had to be given at a retirement party or a memorial service or something, an old man named ‘Randall’ plastered on it in various states of adulthood with the dates 1960-2020 written on it. 

“You know, Serina told me about these,” he starts, holding back more laughter and referring to your best friend. “But, she really didn’t do them justice.” 

“Whichever one you pick is yours , the unofficial ‘Cale’ mug of my apartment.” 

He laughed, kissing you again in a way that made you want him to keep doing it forever. “I guess I’ll take Randall?” 

You meant to throw out the mug, donate back to the thrift store that you got it from a few years ago since Cale was the only one in your apartment who was allowed to use it. Every time he was over, it was out on the table. Every time he left, it was in your dishwasher to be cleaned for the next time he was coming. You didn’t even remember putting it on the table. 

You swallow hard, putting the mug in the corner of your kitchen where a pile of his stuff that you didn’t want to look at already sat. 

Your phone lights up, one of your friends using the ‘notify anyway,’ feature that made your blood boil. You didn’t want to talk to anyone. They all had your location, they could see where you were.

Driving was your least favorite thing to do, avoiding it at all costs, so the fact that you even thought you were going to take a road trip by yourself on the premise of ignoring everyone you could talk to, was baffling. Just you and your thoughts with only the road to distract you.

The little tv screen on the gas station started talking to you, one of those stupid commercials that probably didn’t pay their actors enough making more noise than any car on the street. The commercial couldn’t bother you as much as what you forgot was in the back seat of your car, the Stanley Cup playoffs sweatshirt Cale gave to you sitting there, slightly faded and probably incredibly dirty having rarely been washed, staring back at you like it was taunting you. 

The night before the game, Cale was a wreck. He was in his hotel room in Boston, he called you panicking, pacing back and forth on the hotel carpet. “What happens if we lose?”

“Then you come back and win game seven at home,” you tried to reassure him. 

“What if we lose because of me?”

“Has that happened before?”

“No specific examples that I can think of come to mind, but what if I blocked them out because of the trauma?”

You bit your lip, finding it weirdly endearing that he was this nervous about the game. You knew how much was riding on this, the Avs down 3-2 in the series, meaning this was win that game and force the even more nerve wracking game seven, or lose and hope for next year. “While that is totally valid,” you started, “In the time that I have known you, you have not been the reason the team lost a game.” 

“What if-”

“Cale,” you cut him off, “I get that you’re nervous, but you know the best way to go to sleep before a game is to be calm.”

“Easier said than done,” he huffed.

“I know. What can I do to help?”

He stays silent for a minute, the pacing finally stopping. “Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

“I wish you could be here for the game tomorrow.” 

You felt your heart break, knowing that the one thing he apparently wanted was the one thing you couldn’t give him. “Cale,” you breathe out. 

“There’s a flight from Denver to Boston tomorrow morning that would get you here before we’re done with practice.” 

“You’re looking at flights for me?” 

“If you want to. I’d pay,” he offered.

“Cale, I can’t let you do that,” you started. You weren’t together. You were just supposed to be hooking up, and the fact that he was about to pay how much money for you to get on a flight to see him halfway across the country was something you didn’t do for someone you were just hooking up with. You hadn’t even been to one of his games yet. Only some of his teammates knew you two even knew each other. “I can’t get the time off work with this short of notice unless I have a doctor’s note.” He had to know it was a lie, you feeling a pinch in your chest when the silence on the other end of the line went longer than you had wanted it to. “I’m sorry.”

He cleared his throat, finally, your heart breaking with the sound. You knew he was disappointed. You wanted to make him feel better, but this was too much right now. You still hadn’t even had the conversation about what you were to each other. “No, no, I forgot, sorry. It’s fine.”

“Cale-”

“Hey, I gotta get going,” he tells you, hanging up on you before you can say anything else.

You weren’t wrong, were you? It would have been amazing to fly out on short notice to see a game where your favorite team won the cup. To be there with a player you were dating? Even better. But you weren’t dating him. You liked him, sure. What’s not to like about this perfect guy, an incredibly sweet person who you feel lucky enough to know, your heart skipping a beat whenever his name shows up on your phone screen, when you hear your friends or coworkers mention his name in conversation, only a few of them knowing that you were seeing him in any capacity. 

You had the sudden urge to call him back, tell him that you weren’t going to say fuck it to work and that you would be there waiting for him when he was done with practice. Your finger hovered over his name in your call log, the outgoing call could show up on your screen in a matter of seconds if you just pressed the button. 

You couldn’t do it. 

That would be something you did if you were his girlfriend and you wanted to go see him in one of the biggest games of his career. You would do it if what you had with him was serious, or you at least knew for sure how you felt about each other, you knew where this was going. You had no answers and now was not the time to find them out when the guy you needed the answers from was busy pacing back and forth in a hotel room and probably on his way to vomiting. 

The next night, you were with your friends in a shitty bar watching them, the black and gold logo at center ice mocking you as the score was 4-0. The camera panned over Cale, the bar too loud to hear what the announcers were saying, but you knew it wasn’t good. They were saying the exact things Cale was worried about the night before, that he wasn’t playing his best and that it was his fault they weren’t winning the game. There was minimal chance of recovery for them at this point, and while it wasn’t impossible, Boston had done it before, the Avs hadn’t to your knowledge. The game looked like it was about to end, a shutout loss for the team in the game that could have kept their hopes alive. 

The camera flashed back over to Cale, his mouth covered by his glove as he fought back tears. This was supposed to be their year. It was supposed to be them winning the cup.

You left the bar before the game was fully over, the image of Cale in tears enough to make you do the same. You shouldn’t be this broken up over a boy you weren’t seeing. There was no need to be this broken up over him. 

You started walking home, the air cooling down as it got later in the night. You felt your phone vibrating, expecting it to be one of your friends asking you where you went. 

Cale’s name flashed on your phone, your heart racing. You were afraid to answer it. What were you going to do if he was crying on the other end of the call, if you could hear the guys in the background also upset. You weren’t sure you could take it. 

You reluctantly answer, letting out a weak hello in anticipation of him being upset. 

“You should have been here,” he said, an angry tone in voice that you weren’t expecting. 

“What?”

“You should have been here,” he repeated, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “I spent the entire game wishing you were here, that I could look up to the box and know you were there even if I couldn’t see you, and it fucked me up. We lost because of me. We lost because you weren’t there.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spit, “I told you I couldn’t come. How is it my fault I can’t just leave my job?”

“You should have been here,” he tells you a third time, his voice raised this time, “Up in the box with all the wives and girlfriends.”

“I guess I would have to be a wife or a girlfriend to be there, then, huh?” You hung up before he could say anything else, a sob escaping your body that you didn’t even know you had in you. 

Cale spent the rest of the night trying to reach you, texting, calling, dming on social media, any form of communication you ever had between each other was being used by him while you ignored him. 

How dare he blame you for the team losing the game. He wasn’t the only person on the team, and he wasn’t even on the ice for three of the goals. It wasn’t his fault they lost, and it definitely wasn’t yours, either. 

You fell asleep angry, your phone never ceasing to be lit up by Cale’s constant attempts to reach you. He had family he could call, someone else he could contact. Anyone besides you, the person he was hooking up with in a way that wasn’t supposed to be serious. 

You woke up the next morning, unsure if the pounding was from the brutal hangover made worse by your bad mood, or if someone was trying to break down your door. You get out of bed, sure to mention a few expletives while you make your way to your door to find Cale standing on the other side, eyes bloodshot and his face looking pale. 

“I’m sorry.”

You stood there, staring at him, trying to process him being there in the first place. You clench your jaw, trying to stay with the same attitude you had the night before. “You should be.” 

You invite him in, Cale finding his way to your couch. You sit on the opposite side, trying to position yourself as far away as possible. “That was unfair of me,” he started. You sit there, waiting for him to continue. “I shouldn’t expect stuff like that from you when we aren’t, you know,” his voice trailed off.

He should just say it to you, tell you that you weren’t actually his girlfriend. You wanted to hear it from him, even if it was going to rip your heart out in the process. 

“I like you, Cale. A lot,” you told him.

“I like you, a lot, too,” he said, shifting himself so he was sitting right next to you. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close to kiss the side of your head. You wanted more from him, more than just the confirmation that you liked each other. You had been playing this game for more than a month now, that stupid hook up turning serious when you weren’t supposed to get this close. 

“I brought you something,” he broke the silence that had fallen between the two of you. He pulls the sweatshirt off his body, the one that he had been wearing for the last month and a half or so, the one that was for the playoffs that each player got. “You keep stealing my sweatshirts when you stay over, I figured I would give you one, instead.” 

That fucking sweatshirt. You jump when the pump clicks off, momentarily forgetting that you were outside a gas station at that very moment. You could just throw the sweatshirt out, the trash right there between the pumps. You take the sweatshirt out of your backseat, standing there in front of the trash can longer than you probably should. You couldn’t throw it out. You pop your trunk, throwing it behind your bag that was sitting there waiting to be in a hotel room with you, relaxing and far away from everyone. 

What else did you have to do besides drive to the hotel at this point? You check your phone one last time before you hit the road, the notifications not stopping as your friends start to panic when they watched you leave the house, your ‘Find My Friends’ feature showing them you were at the gas station. 

‘I’m fine, just need to get away,’ you send them, not wanting to give them anymore. 

You scroll through the rest of the notifications, your mom the only person who really knew where you were going. You see a notification from Nate, one of Cale’s teammates and one of Serina’s best friends, a missed call for the first time in who knows how long. 

You try to ignore the notification, that one sticking out to you more than the rest. Plugging in the directions to the hotel, you finally start driving towards Vail. 

Everyone around you was beyond shit faced. The Avs were about to start training camp, the last party someone thought to throw at one of their houses before they had to get back to work after the previous season. They were out for blood, but first they were out of alcohol. 

It was a surreal experience to be the most sober person in a room. You weren’t able to operate machinery or make big decisions in any capacity, but you at least were sure you were going to remember the rest of the night. 

You were sitting on the couch by yourself, scrolling through your Instagram feed, trying to ignore the fact that Cale was on the other side of the room, flirting with some girl one of the other guys brought. 

He had the right to. You still weren’t exclusive, still not calling each other anything more than the person you were hooking up with. You weren’t seeing anyone else, but you hadn’t told him that. You didn’t even want to ask if he was seeing anyone else. That was only going to lead to you being upset. And while you’re drunk, you shouldn’t be upset. Because when you’re upset and drunk, you were bound to make a stupid decision.

No matter what was on the screen in front of your face, you couldn’t help but look up at Cale. You knew he saw you. You knew you were right in his line of sight. You had caught him looking over at you a few times already, a stupid smirk on his face that made your blood boil. He knew what he was doing. 

Motherfucker.

“You called?” Nate said, plopping down next to you with such force your phone falls out of your hands and onto the floor. When you look at him confused, he continued, “You said, ‘motherfucker,’ so I made a bad joke.”

“I didn’t know I said that out loud,” you admit. 

Nate laughed, loudly, or at least, loud enough to make the heat rush to your cheeks, and enough for Cale’s attention to finally turn to you for more than a second. The smirk on his face immediately turned to a scowl when he saw Nate, probably sitting too close to you for his own comfort. 

“So what’s up with you and Cale?” Nate asked. You shrug, hating that you had to have this conversation yet again after having to have it with your friends who knows how many times. “He’s not your boyfriend, though, is he?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not at all.” 

A sickening smile grew on Nate’s face, his arm snaking away around your waist. “Is this ok, then?” he whispered. 

You could see Cale’s face getting red from here, watching Nate flirt with you like he was. Nate knew what he was doing. The entire team knew what you and Cale were up to, there’s no way he didn’t know. “Yes,” you said. 

Nate got as close to you as he could, pulling you so you were practically sitting in his lap. “What about this?” he asked, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“Yes,” you told him again, turning your head to face him, his lips tantalizingly close to you. You glance to the side, Cale’s entire body now turned towards you and Nate. You didn’t want to kiss his teammate, which was where it looked like this was going, but if it made Cale feel anything about you, you were sure it was worth it. 

Before you could process what was going on, Nate’s lips were on yours, moving fast in the way that Cale’s always did at first, that urgency and hunger that he had for you showing with how he couldn’t wait to have your entire body touching his. 

He wasn’t Cale, though. He was Nate, not Cale. 

The only thing going through your mind was that he wasn’t Cale. 

You pull away just as fast as Nate had pulled you in, managing to get out of his grip and got off the couch as fast as you could. You ran to the nearest door you could get into upstairs, your heart racing as you searched to see if you were the only one in the room. You couldn’t have someone in there watch you break down over a guy. 

You waited in the room for what felt like forever, the stupid drunk part of you thinking that Cale would come through the door to see you. Or at least Nate would check to make sure you were ok. 

Neither of them came. 

You felt like you were already driving for hours, when it really was just twenty minutes alone with your own thoughts. How were you supposed to get away from everything when it seemed like everything you saw reminded you of a fucking guy? 

Your music wasn’t enough to keep your thoughts away from Cale, every one with lyrics about being in love or about feeling like you weren’t good enough. Why were those the only two moods you felt? 

Your stomach starts to make noises, suddenly remembering that you hadn’t eaten anything since the afternoon before at work, wondering how well you could navigate the roads of whatever small town you were driving through at that moment to find food. You reprogram your GPS quickly, a diner about five minutes off the exit of the highway. You weren’t even sure what you wanted, you just knew you had to have something. 

A waitress comes over to where you sat down, ordering a burger and fries since it was the only thing you could comprehend as something you’d eat while you tried to figure out why the place seemed vaguely familiar. 

Diners had a weird place in your mind. They were the place where you went at 2 in the morning with your friends after a drunk night, where you went for cheap food and lots of it for breakfast at noon or later after a drunk night, or where you got something quick to eat before getting drunk that night. You could probably count on one hand the number of times you had been to a diner where alcohol wasn’t involved at some point around going. 

Cale had texted you that night that he wanted you to come over. You did, because of course you did. You wanted to see him, and apparently he wanted to see you. You spent the night together, waking up with his arms wrapped around you, his bare chest pressed against your back and his breath tickling the back of your neck. Every time you woke up like this, you couldn’t help but feel like you could fall for him harder than you already did, like you could be with him more than you already were. 

Cale stirred awake, mumbling something against your neck after pressing a sweet kiss against your skin. You turn over, stretching and yawning as he finally released you from his grasp. 

“Wow,” he said, his raspy voice making your heart skip a beat. He stared at you for a second before continuing, “You are beautiful.”

You didn’t know what to say to him, leaning over to him to kiss him as the only response you could think of. You wanted this to be more with him. 

“Hey, can we,” you started, not entirely sure where you were going to end up. 

“Let’s get breakfast,” he said before you could finish, jumping out of bed and throwing a shirt on. He handed you one of his sweatshirts, it hanging on you and hugging you with his smell. You still had the sweatshirt he had given you up in your apartment, sitting on your bed and afraid to wash it because you didn’t want to lose that scent. 

He drove you outside the city, a small diner that you had never heard of. Everything was shockingly blue, the seats, the tables, the walls, you were sure the lighting also was as well. 

“How do you know about this place?” you asked him as you slid across from each other in the booth, confused as to why he would bring you here, of all places, when there were plenty of breakfast places within walking distance of his apartment, 

He shrugged, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb aimlessly tracing the back of your hand. “I found this place my first year here. I come here when I want to get away from the city but can’t really get away for any meaningful amount of time. It’s kinda special to me.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Him taking you to a place that was special? That had to mean something, right? “I’m honored, then,” you blushed. He had never really taken you anywhere in public, not without your friends or his teammates. Was this a date? 

“I’ve taken some of the guys here, too,” he told you, releasing your hand to look through the menu. “Nate’s favorite thing, surprisingly, is the banana walnut french toast.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his teammate known for having an incredibly strict and almost grossly healthy diet, having something that sounded so sickeningly sweet with a cinnamon maple syrup and whipped cream on it as the menu description told you. 

Your mind jumps back to that night with Nate, wondering in that moment what he was doing, who he had woken up next to, where he was spending the morning of his off day. 

Would you have gone further with Nate if Cale weren’t right there? Would you have had anything with Nate at all if Cale weren’t there?

That’s why the diner was familiar to you: Cale had brought you here plenty of times since that day. It was your breakfast ‘date’ place, even though he never actually had an answer for you when you tried to ask him if they were dates. He avoided the question at every chance, never wanting to commit to anything more than that. 

A couple sitting at the other end of the diner, sitting on the same side of the booth, sharing a plate of fries and looked at each other as if no one else existed around them. 

You hated them.

You and Serina somehow ended up at a restaurant downtown that you had never been before, and from the looks of the menu, it made sense why you weren’t there ever. It was way more expensive than any other place you had ever been, even a simple salad being more than what you were really willing to spend on a bowl of lettuce. 

“Why are we here?” you whispered to your friend, slightly mad that she would bring you here without telling you where you were going first. She had to know you would never have agreed to a place like this if she told you ahead of time. 

Serina gives you a look that told you she’s up to something, something that you were sure you were going to hate. “You’ll see.”

“What does that mean?”

“Can you relax? This is supposed to be a nice treat for you.”

“Oh, so you’re paying?”

Serina scoffed, your anxiety spiking instantly. “No.”

“Well I can’t afford this and I don’t think this is a great treat if I’m expected to pay.”

“No, you’re not paying.” 

“Well the only other option is something illegal, and neither of us would survive in prison if we commit a felony.” 

“I don’t think skipping out on our bill would land us in prison.” The entire time, Serina didn’t look up from her menu, your heart racing and the prospect of what she had planned. Her phone lit up on the table, a call from someone you couldn’t make out showing on her screen. “Oh, hey, I’ll be right back.”

Before you could argue, Serina was gone, the phone to her ear and you left alone in a place you didn’t want to be. You start looking around; you could just get up and walk out the door. Serina took her bag with her, so it was just you at the table and your waiter or waitress hadn’t even come over to you yet. It wasn’t illegal to sit at a table for a little bit. They willingly lead you there. 

“Hey,” you heard from behind you, a hand placed gently on your shoulder that still made you jump. 

You turned to see who it was, expecting it to be Serina rejoining you at the table. “Nate?” 

The burger came, no one on the other side of you like there was that night, the couple across the diner still mocking you without them realizing it. You hadn’t expected Nate to show up, for him and Serina to be planning that little swap between the two of them since that night at the party. You especially hadn’t expected him to apologize for not chasing after you that night like he thought he should have. He saw Cale, instead, who asked him why he was talking to you that night, if you had talked before. 

Apparently Cale had dropped the conversation as quickly as it started, the girl he was talking to while you were on the couch with Nate taking his hand and dragging him off somewhere else. 

The food was still sitting in front of you, completely untouched. You check your notifications, your friends still trying to figure out why you up and left the way you did. 

If you were being honest, you weren’t a hundred percent sure. Something inside of you broke when you were scrolling social media, his post shattering your heart in ways you didn’t know was possible. You didn’t know why you were feeling this way, this was just supposed to be a hookup. 

“Why were you with him?” Cale had texted you that he was on his way over, not giving you anything else when you asked him why. As soon as you opened the door to your apartment, he pushed past you, his face red and his voice loud. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Why were you with Nate the other night?” 

“Serina planned a date for us.”

“How could you cheat on me?”

You stood there, shocked, feeling all the anger that Cale was feeling and more. “What the fuck are you talking about? We aren’t together. You’ve made that very clear to me.” 

“We are together. We’re seeing each other,” he tried to defend himself. 

“Really?” you scoffed. “Because last time we even talked about what we are to each other, all we could say was that we liked each other. That was months ago Cale, and all we’ve done is had random hook ups here and there, getting together when you want to, talking to each other when you have the time. If you wanted to be with me, you would have taken me on a date like Nate did fucking ages ago.” 

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair? No, Cale, what’s not fair is you leading me on all this time.” 

It was apparently Cale’s turn to scoff, turning his head so he wasn’t even looking at you as he rolled his eyes. “Leading you on?”

“Yeah,” you practically screamed back at him. “You tell me you like me, and then you do nothing to show it. You take me to that random fucking diner and refuse to call it a date, you never take me anywhere, and what about the time when you told me I should fly to Boston to be there for the game on a moments notice? You act like you care about me when it seems convenient for you.” 

“What about you?” he spit back, “We both agreed that this would never be serious, so sorry if I kept my promise.” 

“Get out,” you yelled. You felt tears coming on, and the last thing you were going to do was cry in front of him. 

“I,” he started, taking a step towards you. 

You jerk back, startling Cale in the process. “Get out of my fucking apartment,” you yell again, Cale storming off before you can process what even really happened. You plop yourself on the couch, the shock of whatever that fight was hitting you like a tsunami, letting out a violent sob that your neighbors could probably hear. 

That couple looked so happy. God, it made you sick. 

You pay your tab without eating the food, your appetite leaving you just as fast as you got out of the building. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t recognized all the blue in that building. Cale had taken you on that route who knows how many times before. 

The rest of your drive passes without you actually paying attention. You felt like you were on autopilot even though you were driving somewhere you had never been before. 

The resort your mom had told you about was beautiful, the king bed once you got into your room calling your name. You flopped down on the soft mattress, finally letting out a breath as you felt all your worries melting away. You throw your phone in your bag, hoping that was enough for you to not think about it as you just laid there and relaxed.

Cale had just texted you that he didn’t think what you had could go any further, especially after the fight the two of you had. The worst part? You didn’t care. 

What you did care about was that he had told you by telling you that you weren’t the only person he was seeing. He told you maliciously, as if that was an out for him. You two weren’t serious, it was never meant to be serious after all, just like your friends had said it wouldn’t be. 

You hated yourself for thinking they were all wrong. 

“What are you thinking about?” Serina asked you, pulling you away from the texts that you were rereading for what had to be the hundredth time from Cale. 

“Men fucking suck.” 

“Hey, you found a good one, though.”

You didn’t realize you fell asleep, your sadness from earlier in the day draining your energy more than you thought it would. You only woke up because you heard knocking at your door. 

You groggily shuffle to the door, opening it without checking through the peephole even though you probably should have. 

“Nate?” 

Before saying anything, he pulls you in for a hug, a sigh of relief coming out as he planted a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m fine with you needing to get away for any reason, but next time can you tell me you’re going instead of me having to find out from your mom?” 

“Sorry,” you mumble against his chest, his smell instantly calming you. 

He pulls you into your room, a bag you didn’t notice before dragging behind him. “I’ll leave if you want me to, if you really need to be alone.”

“No,” you say, plopping down on the bed, Nate following suit, “I’m fine with you being here. I like that you’re here.” 

He pulls you close again, his arm around your waist. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You stay silent. Nate knew you better than anyone, so he had to know what happened. “You saw Cale’s post.” 

You hated that a stupid Instagram post from Cale still had this much power over you. There was no reason why him getting engaged should crush you when you had been dating Nate for almost two years. 

Nate sits silent after you nod, trying to figure out what to say. “He really did a number on you, huh?” You nod, not sure where to even begin with your words. “What does that mean for us?”

“I don’t know.” 

#cale makar #cale makar fic #nate mackinnon #nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon fic #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche fic #avalanche #avalanche fic #avs

[thegrimreaperisanerd]

month-long chronic insomnia flareup got me acting a BIT too HDB-esk so I drew myself some Kims. I have cracked it! (The case of 'how to draw this MF')

feat one Harry, ECHEM, and Kineema that I fucking made up from memory because im not studying that beast

#broke my 5+ year sobriety streak w class As last Thursday. Sigh. #if you got on ave >4 sleep a day for a month you'd probably also go insane #my stupid neighbour's workmen decided to start taking the scaffolding down at HALF SEVEN. AND I WORK NIGHTS!!!! AHHH!!! #anyway....... kim Kitsuragi save me #draw him balding 2k24 #also i am fucking working on DUCKLINGS i promise but the lack of sleep giving me migranes i dont wanna look at a screen too long #im a writer before an artists but im actually rly proud of these- borrowed my GFs brush pens and they're so good holy shit #my hands shaking doesnt matter cos the lines get thicker if i press harder!!!! wow!!! #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #coupris kineema #breakthrough imminent: post of mine #ignore my tags im losing my fucking marbles fr #anyway this is all in prep because i ACTUALLY wanna draw younger Kim from my fic. like. properly #not just at a safely vague distance lmao

[nachosncheezies]

People like Bill Jr. got all kinds of things wrong about Scully but probably none moreso than thinking it was tragic that Mulder was dragging her along on some descent into madness, when actually the real tragedy was how few of the people she loved ever realized it wasn't a descent.

(It couldn't be bc 1. it's not madness and 2. she was already there.)

#she worked hard to mask it and clearly did a good job #Mulder's gift was he could meet her where she was #I think Maggie knew it I think that's why she liked him immediately and continued to despite all the tragedy that followed #setting aside the way he was right there with her clearly devastated and ready to go berserker on a whole hospital over her daughter #and the unspoken vote of confidence from Scully herself when they found out he was the one who witnessed her living will #'oh he sees through her too. AND she hasn't jettisoned him for it. iiinch-resting.....' -maggie scully probably #i love that relative to the people I knew when I first watched now all these years later i see so many more people #recognizing how incredibly Not Normal this Put Together Human Adult Woman is #this (including above tags) has been in my drafts for weeks thems was fic-readin thoughts #i think i had just started reading AV's henry au and was having a moment over the comments about scully having a recklessness in her #and her self-destructive streak #might've also been incrementum and the part about she's crazy and he loves it bc he's pretty sure he's the only one who knows #also was not long past cancer arc and emily on my rewatch so basically #get rekt bill jr #anyway #notes to self #x files #the x files #scully #bill jr #nachos thoughts

[alltaternotot]

The Big Chop | A. Georgiev

Alexandar georgiev x fem reader 

A/N: time for some promised goalie love!! Georgie occupies about 99% of my hockey brain right now, and I really like his haircut. I might make a part two to this if I’m feelin it. 

CW: nothing really, Georgie getting his haircut, tooth rotting fluff. Very lightly proofread, sorry for any mistakes! 

Word count: 1.2k

:)

<><><><> 

Alex’s hair was getting very, very long. 

Not that you didn’t love his hair long, you really did. He had been growing it out since before Colorado scooped him up, something superstitious causing him to put the clippers away. Not only that, he wanted to try out a different style than he was used to in New York. 

It turned into bonding time for you two, something for you to do when he was home so you could enjoy some nice quality time with him. You washed it for him in the shower, your hands in his hair with his lips on your neck becoming your own personal heaven. You gave him some nice leave in conditioner to keep it soft, and he hung on every word while you explained. You would even trim the dead ends off every so often to keep it looking healthy. You were getting very good at trimming straight and feathering in some texture at the bottom. 

His hair was past his shoulders now. Lately, you had been helping him style it into a sleek bun for his walk ins, which you had become oddly fond of. It would flow out from under his helmet during games and he would come home with a damp mop on his head. As much as you loved it, you noticed him repeatedly tucking it behind his ear  or brushing it back, a look of annoyance coming over his features. He even took a late night trip to Walmart for one of those headbands with teeth to keep it out of his eyes. 

Then, the Avs started losing. Alex was exhausted by playing so many games, the Defence was suffering a little bit, and silly mistakes were leading to losses. You could tell it was affecting him, he came home quieter and just wanted to go to sleep after a hard game. He could see people talking about him. You just wanted to hug him and kiss him and take all the tough feelings away. But you couldn’t, which was the hardest thing to wrestle with as his girlfriend. He was starting in net again tonight, Jared keeping his faith in Alex after a couple games of rest. 

He had been in the bathroom a little longer than usual. He had already been to morning skate, and taken his shower, so now he had free time till he had to leave for the game. You were sitting in the living room, relaxing with a cup of tea in hand while Alex got ready. 

“Baby? Would you come here?” His voice floated from the bathroom out into the hallway. 

“Everything okay in here?” You asked, walking into the bathroom to your shirtless boyfriend leaning over the sink, his hair damp. 

“I think it’s time.” He said, which felt cryptic to you, but he gave a look like you would know exactly what he was talking about. 

“Time for what Alex?” You inquired. 

“Time for a chop.” He said, bending down to open the cabinet that held the hair shears and his clippers. “I need a boost out there and I’m tired of brushing it back.” 

“Oh! How much are you thinking?” You asked, scooting up onto the counter so you could sit in front of him.

“I want it off my neck I think, not too short but not super long anymore.” He handed the shears up to you, his head still buried in the cabinet below you both. “Are you ok with doing it? I don’t really have time to book an appointment with the barber before the game.” 

“Sure I can! Just don’t be mad if it doesn’t turn out perfect!” You joked, and he laughed, standing back up with his little bag of clippers and heads of varying length. 

“I’m sure you’ll do great baby.” He said, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “I’ll get a trash bag for the floor, don’t move.”

You let out a little giggle at his excitement, hopping off the counter to plug in his clippers and clean off the shears as best as you can. He rounded the corner again, a trash bag and a stool in hand. He put the bag down, then the stool, and sat down right in front of you, ready for you to start. 

“You’re super sure about this right?” You asked one more time, a little worried he might regret it and be in his head before the game. 

“I’m ready. It’s time.” He said, big brown eyes meeting yours in the mirror in front of you both. 

“Okay… look down…” you murmured, brushing his hair back while he relaxed into your gentle touch. 

You started by clipping up his hair in layers, making sure they were straight across the back of his head. You eyeballed a length a little longer than what he asked for, bringing the shears up right underneath your fingers. The sharp noise of the shears rang around the bathroom walls as you made your first snip, watching his chocolate locks fall to the ground. Slowly, you made your way through the layers of his hair, gently brushing off his bare shoulders when a stray lock got stuck on his skin. It was quiet other than the snipping. 

“Baby?” Alex’s soft voice broke the quiet.

“Mhm?” 

“Will you still wash my hair for me in the shower now that it’s short?” He asked, and you looked up from the snip you just made to watch his face in the mirror. 

“Of course I will love,” you murmured, letting your hand fall to his shoulder, “why do you ask?” 

“I just really like it, it’s one of my favorite parts of the day. You’re like, the best at it.” He gushed, the edge of his lips curling up in a sweet smile, “I swear you’re what makes my hair so soft.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so, but it’s a nice thought love,” you giggled out, “you’re gonna be shocked at how light it feels.” 

He smiled at you, now looking straight ahead, “It already feels better. Like a fresh start. What about the leave in conditioner?” 

“You can still use it, just use a little less and run it through your hair like you would with a gel. A little goes a long way.” You explained and he nodded shortly, not wanting to mess up your handiwork. 

“Sounds good baby.”

“Almost done, look down again…” you continued, delicately moving his head down with your fingers. 

You feathered in some more snips, bringing the line of his hair right above his neck. It was still longer than it used to be in his early days in New York, just more manageable. You, of course, thought he looked handsome with any length of hair, but you liked this length on him a lot. It just felt right to let the hair, and therefore the losses and all the other baggage that comes with it, go completely. It felt like a mini victory in and of itself. 

“Ok, I think we’re done. Check it out hon.” You murmured.

He looked up, turning left, right, then center, his pearly teeth showing through a sweet smile. He ran a big hand through his hair, putting it exactly how he liked it. 

“It’s perfect baby. Thank you.” He admired, pulling you in front of him for a hug and a sickly sweet kiss, your hands falling on his bare shoulders with the shears forgotten. 

“You’re welcome. You might need another shower though, you’re covered in hair.” You said with a punctuating giggle. 

“Only if you join me and wash my hair for me.” 

#avs fic #colorado avalanche #t’s imagines #alexandar georgiev #Alexandar georgiev fic #alexandar georgiev imagine #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalance #hockey rpf #i am a georgie defender till i die

[horsesandhockeyplayers]

When Life Gives You Lemons- Part 13

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail.  These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular  chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 4677

Word Count Total: 58,279

Author’s Note: Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I   will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV   change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part begins with  Clementine. THERE BE SMUT (kinda).

Part Thirteen*

When I woke, my heart was racing, Daze was planted on my chest with her head tucked under my chin, and Barbs was in a towel, soaking wet; standing over me. Absurdly, the first thing I noticed was how the droplets of water followed the trail of his chest hair down to his belly button.

I petted Daze and took a few deep breaths, focusing on the water dripping down Mark’s chest, the nightmare featuring Bill fading into the recesses in my mind where he would lurk until next time. 

When my heart rate approached a reasonable rate, the Border Collie lifted her head and licked my cheek. 

I was still focused on watching the water trail down Barbs’ body, and without thinking, I reached up to chase a droplet with my finger.

HIs brows disappeared into his hair, as he asked, “What the fuck, Lemon?”

My focus was still on that droplet and it took me a minute to realize that that wasn’t what he was asking about. My voice sounded like it was coming from a different room and when I put the pieces together, I responded, “Oh, I have night terrors,” like I was mentioning I bought the wrong milk and not a serious psychosomatic issue. 

His voice was stern, which pulled me out of my body-hair-water-droplet-related rapt state, when he said, “Clementine.”

Daze retreated to the other end of the couch and gave me a weary look. “I mean,” I started defensively, “I don’t know what you want me to say. I have night terrors. It’s not something I can control.”

He pushed away from the couch and ran his fingers through his dripping hair, looking sort of frantic. “Fuck,” he exhaled, “I thought you were dying. Do you have these every night?”

He was pacing, water was still dripping off of his body and, amongst other things, I was a little worried he was going to slip on the concrete floor. 

The more wound up he got, the tighter I felt the boa constrictor squeeze my chest. I knew that I was only going to get one chance to reason with him or explain myself before I felt like I was going to completely suffocate and it would become impossible to do so, so before I got there, I pleaded, “Mark.”

I don’t know what he saw, but his face closed down and he turned on his heel, walking down the hallway and muttering to himself, “Fucking night terrors.” The loud slam of the door made me jump, and Daze was trying to crawl in my lap, likely because she realized that I was all of a sudden overwhelmed by the feeling I needed to be anywhere else right the fuck now.

I pushed her off of my lap and made my way to the front entryway, snagging my tote on the way. My hand was reaching for the door when Mark came out of the bedroom, tucking himself into his jeans, calling “Lemon?”

My bare feet didn’t make a sound on the polished concrete floor as I walked toward the bank of elevators. Daze was trotting beside me trying to cross in front of my path and I started to dig in my bag for an extra leash; I usually had five on me. You know, just in case. 

I veered right at the elevators since I was still taking the stairs these days, which was when Mark caught up to me, a pair of my of shoes in one hand and his house keys in the other.

“Lemon, wait,” he implored. When I didn’t respond, he repeated, a little more forcefully, “Lemon, babe. Shoes.” How he managed to leap down a flight of stairs and skid out in front of me to block my passage, I don’t know; however, I will say that I wasn’t too wrapped up in my panic attack to prevent my noticing this feat of athleticism and subsequently file in away in my brain as something to appreciate at a later time and place. But now was not it.

Mark knelt down in front of me, laces on my shoes undone, and he slipped a little ankle sock on each foot. Honestly, the image was so ridiculous that it provided me with a moment of clarity just long enough for me to take a deep breath. I used his shoulder for balance as I put one shoe on, then the other. I could feel his body heat through the palm of my hand; his muscles were like granite, and he just felt so warm and solid in front of me. 

By the time he was done lacing both shoes, my panic attack had ratcheted down from a 7 to a 3 out of 10. My fingers were gently tracing random patterns into his shirt, allowing me to feel the intersections of muscles beneath his skin. Mark didn’t say anything as he remained kneeling in front of me, letting me have my moment or ten. Eventually, though, he stood and slid his arm through mine, pulling me in for a hug and setting my hand on his forearm so I could twirl his arm hair, much to my heart’s delight.

Things after that were a bit of blur and I don’t know how far we walked, but we ended up at a small park that was completely devoid of people. Taking Daze’s leash off, I started to dig in my purse and she knew whatever was coming out was going to be for her, so she started dancing on her front paws. I sat on a bench and handed the ball to Mark. He showed it to Daze, who let out an excited bark as he threw it.

He sat next to me, arm behind me on the bench, his voice almost light, as he murmured, “I didn’t know service dogs could play.”

I leaned into his body, suddenly tired even though I had just woken up. Between the night terror and the panic attack, I felt like I had run a marathon. “Dogs are like people,” I reminded him, “They’ll burn out if it’s all work all the time. They just need to be dogs sometimes.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. “You know,” he began, “even the most well-adjusted, intelligent man would struggle with this situation, right? And we both know I am neither of those things.”

“What situation would that be?” I asked, playing very dumb.

Mark didn’t pull any punches as, without hesitation, he responded, “Trying to date a woman who has survived some serious trauma and not without physical and mental scars.”

I was glad to hear that, if nothing else, he didn’t say ‘crazy person.’

Daze came back and dropped the ball at his feet; he picked it up and threw it again, wiping his hand on his jeans. “You’ve had a lot of time to get used to what happened to you, to learn how to make jokes about it, but this is all new to me.  I never think it’s your fault, I never think this is something wrong with you.” He took a deep breath before he continued, “You just need to give me a minute to fucking process some shit. Like, when I hear you scream like you’re being murdered on my couch while I’m in the shower, for example. I don’t think my heartbeat has ever been that fast and I am a professional athlete. And then you’re totally just chill, telling me you have Night Terrors like you’re informing me the Queen got another Corgi.”

I cleared my throat, vaguely uncomfortable, informing him, “Actually, the Queen isn’t actually breeding corgis anymore…”

His hand settled on the back of my neck and he squeezed lightly, as a tight smile crossed his face and he shook his head ruefully. “Lemon,” he chuckled, “that’s not the point.”

I halfway turned to face him, asking pointedly, “What is the point then, Barbs? That we’re both perfectly imperfect?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he clarified. “What I mean is that only one of us can freak out at a time, Lemon, and sometimes that person needs to be me. Like, when you casually drop the bomb that sometimes you wake up screaming, solely because some asshole traumatized you that much.” He looked at me and went on, “And it feels like I have about half a second to process that information and go through a range of emotions related to that. Today, for example, I went from thinking “putting that dude in a hole in the ground is too kind” all the way to “holy shit, what does this mean for my sleep on game days?” in about two seconds flat.” He gave the back of my neck another squeeze before he continued, “And sometimes I’m probably going to need to walk away to process. But I’m not walking away from you, ok?”

I nodded, understanding what he was telling me; as someone who had spent a good chunk of time overwhelmed by a variety of feelings, I didn’t have to imagine very hard what a situation like that felt like for Mark.  “I think that’s fair,” I acknowledged, meeting his eyes. I took a deep breath and continued slowly, “I’m just… surprised you’re willing to try at all.”

He pulled me into his body, whispering in my ear, “Of course I am. But we are going to have to figure something out regarding the shoe situation, because I can’t have you wandering around Denver in bare feet. It’s where I draw the line.”

“That is an acceptable request,” I said through a smile. “I will work on it.”

Daze brought the ball back and Mark threw it farther this time. Clearly upset it was so much farther away, she offered a hysterical bark as she tore after it. 

We sat in silence for a while, watching Daze take her time coming back with the ball; there was a quasi-pattern to her actions, but she tended to rotate between the following: dropping it to sniff an interesting smell, picking it up again, pausing to pee on a dandelion plant, sniffing said pee with the ball still in her mouth, sniffing said pee after dropping the ball, etc.

Meanwhile, I appreciated the fact we could sit in comfortable silence, especially because it gave me time to absorb what Mark had said. After I’d mulled things over, I was the one who finally broke it and asked, “So, what do we do now?” I wasn’t sure if I meant in a general existential way or in this “relationship” or with the afternoon ahead of us, but he didn’t ask me to specify.

He was running his hand down my hair, combing it between his fingers,  and with the amount of time that task was requiring, it seemed that taking a nap while it was still wet was a poor choice, and I was grateful I hadn’t yet seen a mirror. “I don’t know,” he replied, “I was thinking we could order in, but you didn’t exactly get a second date, so if you want to put on something nice, we could go out instead.”

“What?” I was very confused.

“Lemon, I know I’m the dumb one, but this isn’t really that complicated. You asked what we do now, do you want to eat in and bingewatch TV, or go out?”

I blinked, still not understanding. “You don’t want to take me back to my parents?”

His hand stilled on my hair, and I realized I had caught him off guard. “I mean, I can take you if you want to go,” he offered. “Do you want to leave?”

I shook my head.

“Then, I’m lost,” he told me.

“I mean, this has been kind of stupid,” I said, looking at him, feeling like it was a totally obvious assessment of the situation. As he looked back at me with that same look regarding our plans for the evening, I realized there was a huge disconnect somewhere and so, I continued, “Last night I slept for 15 hours. I was awake for like, two, during which you cooked me a meal, then I fell back asleep and after sleeping for however long again, I woke up and in doing so, I scared you half to death. I’m just surprised you aren’t itching to get rid of me.”

I yelped slightly as he dragged me into his lap and I could practically hear him rolling his eyes as he replied, “Lemon, were you not listening earlier?”

Frowning, I answered, “I was paying attention.” 

“Did you miss the part where I said I wasn’t going to walk away from you and none of this is your fault?” Mark asked.

“No,” I grumbled.

“Great. Then, do you want to order in or go out?”

I reached out to finger the silver chain peeking out of his tee shirt, as I offered, “Order in?”

He captured my chin with his fingers and angled my face toward his, confirming, “Order in, it is, then.”

The kiss was hard but brief, though during it, he managed to stand and gently set me on my feet all in one motion and I remembered that I needed to be in awe of his body. 

He cleared his throat and quirked an eyebrow at me as he wondered, “Why are you looking at me like you’re 3 days into going carb-free and I’m a fresh baked loaf of french bread?”

I did my best to school my face into a more neutral look, but he wasn’t buying it. I knew I wasn’t off the hook, but to give me some time, he whistled for Daze, who picked up her ball from the grass and came running. After clipping on her leash Mark tucked me into his side, asking again, “Lemon?”

I sighed, admitting “I just realized today I don’t think I was ever attracted to Bill, but I am very attracted to you.”

The smug practically radiated off of him and I knew I had to clarify, lest it go to his head. So, I continued, “But sometimes, I still want to dump a 1 billion degree McDonald’s coffee over your head, so there is still room for improvement.”

When he spoke it was under his breath and through his smirk as he singsonged, “You liiiiikkee me. You want to dddaaattttee me, you want to kiiiiissss me.”

“Calm your tits, Gracie Hart,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He pulled me impossibly closer, “Mmm I think we both know Sandra Bullock’s tits have nothing on yours and I mean, Sandy is hot.”

I had to concede there, allowing, “Sandra Bullock is hot.”

Mark grinned again and kissed my temple, saying, “My girl has good taste.”

I made a face but let him have the small victory. 

When we finally made it back to his apartment, my phone was vibrating on the coffee table and I grimaced, realizing I hadn’t checked in with Nora yet, save for a brief text this morning. I scrolled to the bottom of the text thread, which took me an embarrassingly long time, and unfortunately, they were still coming in.

Nora: I’m calling Columbo.

Nora: The national guard

Nora: Homeland security

Nora: The feds!

I shot off a response before the situation escalated further, though it did give me pause to consider who might be above the feds on Nora’s hierarchy of emergency contacts; maybe The Pope?

Hi! I’m here, I'm alive! 

Nora: Quick question: WHAT THE FUCK?

Nora: FIRST of all, you are at a cute boy’s house and you don’t text for awhile, ok, I get that. You have better things to do, but Clementine Jones, it has been almost 24 hours and all I got some bullshit brief shit this morning. SECOND OF ALL, take a picture of Mark, right now. Right this second. 

Mark was downing a glass of water and I zoomed in on him with my phone and snapped a picture before sending it to Nora. He lifted a brow and I just shook my head.

Nora: Why is he wearing clothes? Are you wearing clothes? I’m realizing now that maybe we need to have a conversation about the birds and the bees before I sent you off with The Italian Stallion and that’s on me. 

I rolled my eyes at her, even though she couldn't see me.

I have had many revelations over the past 24 hours and 1 of them is that I now know for certain I was never sexually attracted to Bill and the 2nd is I don’t own enough panties.

Nora: !!!!!!!!

Now, Barbs and I are ordering dinner. 

I turned my phone off and set it back down on the coffee table as I was joined on the couch by a tired Border Collie and a less tired Barbs.

“Was it Nora?”

I nodded and settled into the corner of the couch.

Mark snatched up my legs and hauled me down the length of the couch, putting my feet in his lap. He slipped off my shoes and socks, the very same ones he had put on earlier, and started rubbing my feet. I tried to pull them away as I whined, “Mark, stop.”

He stopped massaging, but didn’t release my feet, “What,” he asked, “why?”

“I don’t like it.” 

“Have you ever had your feet rubbed?” he prodded.

“I mean, yeah, like pedicures and stuff.”

“Well, did you like it then?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, suddenly aware of where this line of questioning was going, and it was a checkmate on the conversation. I relaxed back into the cushions grumbling, “Yes.”

“Ah, so you just don’t like ME rubbing your feet,” he teased.

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Why don’t you want me rubbing your feet, Lemon?” he continued, pushing on despite my reticence. “You actually fight me every time I try and do something nice.”

“To be fair,”  I said, defending myself, “a lot of this is touch related and I am a little gun shy.”

“Mmmhmmm,” he acknowledged.

He returned to rubbing my feet, and I did my best to relax. When he dug his thumbs into the bottoms of my arches, I may have moaned while my muscles turned to warm jello.

“That’s it, she’s finally relaxed,” he said, with more than a hin of smugness, but I really wanted him to continue doing what he was doing so I stayed silent. Of course, he couldn’t let that go without comment.

“Oh, wow,” he chirped, “No smartass remarks?”

I opened my eyes long enough to roll them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

She had these walls she didn’t even know she had about issues she didn’t know she had, and I really enjoyed taking a sledgehammer to them and getting a little closer to her with every swing. 

Finally, after that moan— which, honestly, had me hard in my jeans— she took a few deep breaths and I literally felt all the tension drain out of her body. 

I knew she wasn’t sleeping, because every so often, her foot would twitch when I hit a ticklish spot. 

“Hey, Lemon?” I prompted, “What do you want for dinner?”

She didn’t open her eyes to answer as she murmured, “Whatever you want, Barbs.”

“Pizza?”

She opened one eye and asked, “If you gorge yourself on pizza, are you going to be slow as fuck at camp on Monday?”

For the first time in my life, I didn’t have anything to say and I gaped at her.

Her smile was small and sly, but I caught it. “You little minx,” I spat, setting her feet back on the couch and levering over her, fitting my hips to hers. “Are you accusing me of being slow?”

“I’m just sayin’,” she intoned, “everyone looks good this summer and it would be a shame if you got sent down because you couldn’t hack it. I’d be forced to take pictures of Gabe… or worse! EJ!”

I kissed my way down her throat as I whispered against her skin, “You say that like you only take pictures of me.”

She squirmed under me as she admitted, “I have a secret folder on my computer that’s just you. I download the excess photos before I turn in the memory cards.”

I sat up a bit and braced myself on an arm above her, looking her in the eyes as I asked, “Seriously?”

She made a face I couldn’t decipher and nodded slowly. 

I don’t remember deciding to kiss her but I just suddenly was, my tongue against hers, trying to coax it off the bottom of her mouth. Her hands hesitantly slipped under the hem of my shirt, and I sat up again, pulling it over the back of my head with one hand.

She seemed to freeze as I did that, and pulled her fingers away. I missed her touch immediately and maybe it was a little selfish but with my free hand, I reached for both hers and replaced each on my body. When I settled back down to kiss her again, the cross around my neck settled in the hollow of her throat.

She removed her hands again, but this time pushed her fingers into my hair as she murmured, “I can’t get enough of your hair.” Finally, the hair gene paid off. 

Her fingertips massaged my skull and I dropped my cheek to her chest, giving a contented sigh. “If you never stopped doing that and I could lay on top of you forever, I might just die a happy man,” I informed her.

She finger combed my hair, nails scraping against my scalp and suddenly the intimate idea of a relationship didn’t sound awful. I currently ONLY wanted to fuck Clementine ANYWAY and if this intimacy and this closeness was a bonus, I suddenly understood all the guys on my team with wives and long-time girlfriends. These were moments that just didn’t come from a one night stand or a hookup. These impromptu moments of intimacy filled a part of me I didn’t realize was empty. 

And just as suddenly, I realized Tine was the only woman I could picture myself with like this, just laying here, while she ran her fingers through my hair, close, intimate, with a weather ear on the golf tournament I had turned on. 

“Mark?” She asked, trailing her hands out of my hair and down my back.

“Hmm?” I resisted the urge to rub my beard scruff against her.

“Are you going to fall asleep?”

I smiled and shook my head against her chest, “Nuh uh.”

She was dragging her fingertips against my skin and I could feel the goosebumps chasing her fingers. “Then can you kiss me?” she asked softly.

I lifted my head and pressed my lips to hers, more than happy to oblige. This time, she was the one to deepen the kiss, her tongue licking across my lips. 

My moan may have sounded more like a growl as my tongue shoved hers out of the way and I kissed her hard. The moment I did, she backed off, almost seeming to freeze. I pulled my lips from hers, sensing her limits and asked “Too much?”

She nodded. I took a breath and slid my arms underneath her body flipping us so she was on top. “Okay,” I affirmed. “What if you drive?” I suggested.

Her knees settled on either side of my hips. I could feel her heat through my jeans and her leggings and I shot a little prayer toward the sky that I would be able to control myself and give her an experience she deserved. 

Tine rocked on my erection, adjusted her position and rocked her hips again, letting out a small gasp.

I folded my hands behind my head contentedly, and she placed her hands on my chest to change the angle. She looked down at me through the veil of her hair that fell over her shoulders. 

“Is this ok?” she asked

“Does it feel good for you?” I responded.

She nodded.

“Then it’s more than ok,” I said easily. 

Her hips rolled again and she bit her lip as she set a rhythm, grinding against me as she whimpered, “Fuck, Mark.”

She was fully clothed and still, it was quite possibly the hottest, most intimate thing I had ever experienced.

She adjusted her position again, her pace increasing and when it started to falter, I grabbed her hips and thrust up against her, holding her steady. As she shivered above me, I did it again. And again. And again. Finally, she threw her head back and her entire body shuddered; I watched as the tremors rolled through her and I was sure I’d never been harder in my life. When she pushed against my chest and tried to wiggle away from me, I stopped moving and she collapsed against my chest. From her place tucked under my chin, I heard her whisper, “Barbs?”

“Mm?” 

“What the fuck was that?” she wondered.

“An orgasm?”

“That’s an orgasm?” she asked in disbelief.

My next words escaped before I thought about them, because all the blood to run my brain was currently in my dick and the affection gripping my heart was almost overwhelming, meaning I was basically fucked. “Babe,” I blurted out, “I watched you have an orgasm in the shower.”

She sat up and looked at me, her face inscrutable. “You watched me?” she echoed.

I grimaced and nodded, elaborating, “I knocked and called your name, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Ok, gross invasion of privacy aside, even that didn’t feel like this.”

“Baby, I don’t know what to tell you. That was an orgasm.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed, sounding a little awestruck.

I pushed the hair away from her face, wanting to check on her, because I figured this was A Lot. “Are you ok?” 

She nodded, smiling as she said, “An entire genre of books and television suddenly make sense.”

I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her to my chest. Eventually, her breathing evened out and I was almost certain she fell asleep. I squirmed and tried to snake a hand between our bodies to adjust myself.

“Am I too heavy?” she mumbled.

“No, babe, just… too sexy.”

She snorted into my chest as she rejected this answer, informing me, “You’re such a liar.”

“Lemon,” I sighed, “when you wore that dress did you not look in the mirror?”

“Ok,” she narrowed her eyes at me, skeptical “but I don’t exactly look like every other hockey guy’s girlfriend.”

“But you’re not every hockey guy’s girlfriend,” I retorted, “you’re MY girlfriend.”

She turned her head, our eyes mere inches apart, as she questioned, “Am I your girlfriend? Are you going to put a label on me?”

I pushed her hair out of her face again so I could look at her as I confirmed, “Yeah. I’m gonna put a label on you. So I hope you’re okay with that. And plus, maybe that’ll help keep Comph and Josty’s ass-ogling at bay.”

The smile on her face was faint, but it was there, “They do not do that,” she dismissed.

“You have no idea,” I said earnestly, “I had to threaten all of them.”

“When?” she pressed. 

“When what?”

“When did you have to threaten them?”

I twirled the ends of her hair, brushing it against my beard and pretended I didn’t hear her.

“Barbs, when?” she pestered.

I cleared my throat and mumbled without making eye contact, “thedayicaughtyouinmyarms.”

She turned her head toward me and chirped, “Excuse me, I didn’t catch that.”

I captured her lips with mine for a soft kiss before I pulled back and smirked, “I said, the day I caught you in my arms.”

Her face was soft as she recalled, “Barbs, that was the first day you met me.”

“Nothing wrong with your memory, Lemon.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

#Mark Barberio #mark barberio imagine #mark barberio fic #mark barberio rpf #Colorado Avalanche #Colorado Avs #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche rpf #avs #Avs fic #avs imagine #avs rpf #lausanne hc #nhl fic #nhl fiction #nhl rpf #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #hockey romance

[spine-buster]

That Which We Are, We Are | Nathan MacKinnon | Chapter 5

gif credit @/happer08

A/N: 7000+ words of...well...

Sorcha had texted the address to the coffee shop to Nate earlier that morning, and now, in a turn of events, she was waiting for him instead of the other way around. She only had to go into work in the afternoon today anyway, so she decided to take advantage of her free time in the morning. She’d already ordered a cappuccino and an almond croissant as she kept glancing towards the door, waiting for him to come in.

Only about five minutes later, she watched as Nate slipped into the café wearing a baseball hat and workout gear. With one quick look up, he spotted her at a table against the red brick wall and moved quickly, not needing to be waved down. “Hey,” she greeted him as he slipped into the chair opposite her. “Thanks for meeting with me. I really appreciate it.”

“There’s no way we could have left it where we did,” Nate said. “I’m such a fucking dick. I’m sorry for yelling at you outside your work.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you outside my work,” Sorcha added. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t more…you know, forthcoming with why I didn’t want to go to your house. It’s just—”

“—Don’t apologize, I should have known,” Nate said. “Not only am I a dick, I’m an idiot too.”

“You’re really not,” Sorcha shook her head, clasping her hands together on the table. She stayed silent for a moment, trying to find the words to say what she wanted to say to Nate. “It’s just really, um, hard for me, Nate…because I know they’re your friends, but I also know that I have to set boundaries,” she explained, her words coming out slowly – though that only increased their impact. “Kehoe I don’t mind – all he did was dote on you all your life, and he was kind of like you in the way that he never actually said anything, but laughed along with everything. Lucas is sort of the same, I guess. But Noah and, of course, Shane…I don’t want to be around them, Nate. I just don’t.”

“I get it. I—don’t worry, I get it,” Nate said. “It took me so long to realize why you said no, and it was a huge mistake on my part. I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable. God, that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“It’s not even about me being uncomfortable. It’s about the years of rage I have pent up inside me,” Sorcha explained, smiling slightly at the end. “I don’t know what I’d do or say if I was in the same room as them, but I know it wouldn’t be pretty. I guess I kind of wanted to save you from that, too.”

Nate shook his head. “You don’t have to. They deserve everything that’d come their way,” he said through gritted teeth, clasping his own hands together on the table, dangerously close to Sorcha’s. “I only really talk to Kehoe and Lucas, you know. The others just hang around in the summer when they know I’m home. It’s not like they reach out much when I’m out in Colorado.”

Sorcha furrowed her brows. “Then why are you even friends with them anymore?” she asked. Nate shrugged his shoulders. “I—okay, never mind, that’s none of my business. Can we just—”

“—Can I say one more thing?” Nate interrupted.

“Of course.”

He looked her in the eye. “I meant what I said on the phone. About how all I could think about was you that night. How I missed you. How I want to spend time with you.”

There were those words again. A shiver ran up Sorcha’s spine upon hearing them again. She had tried so hard to reject them that night, until she finally came to the conclusion that she deserved to hear them – and deserved to hear them from someone like Nate. Someone who she enjoyed the company of, had gotten to know better, and thought about more often than she liked to admit. “I know you did,” she said, her voice low. “I—please Nate, can we just—can we apologize and move on? Can we pick up from where we were?”

“I want nothing more than that,” he nodded. “I’m sorry, Sorcha.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan.”

They looked each other in the eyes and smiled, almost bashfully, as the words hung in the air between them. Of course, clear communication had resolved the fight they’d had, which began due to a lack of communication. Sorcha internally vowed never to do that to Nate again. Nate internally vowed never to lose his temper around Sorcha again. “What are you doing th—”

“—Excuse me,” a voice suddenly interrupted their conversation. A man who looked like he was in his late thirties, dressed in jeans, a polo shirt, and a baseball cap approached their table apprehensively. Sorcha watched as his eyebrows raise as he rested his eyes on Nate. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, but are you Nathan MacKinnon?”

Sorcha’s breath hitched in her throat. She hoped to God this wouldn’t happen when out with Nate, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. It just so happened that it had to come after one of their more intense and emotionally charged conversations. “That’s me,” Nate nodded, putting on a smile.

“I’m sorry to bother you and your friend, but my kid is just outside with his mom and he adores you. Do you mind if I call him in?” the man asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Nate agreed. The man thanked him profusely before power-walking towards the door of the café. Sorcha watched as he called out to his son, and he re-entered the café holding his son’s hand. “Hey buddy,” Nate said gently when they were close enough.

When the little boy realized who Nate was, his eyes were wider than the sun beaming outside. “Nathan MacKinnon?!” he gasped.

“How are you?”

“I’m g—I—I’m your biggest fan!” the boy exclaimed, still awe-struck. “I play hockey just like you and I want to play just like you and Sidney Crosby!”

“Well let’s hope you play more like Sid and less like me,” Nate joked, causing the dad to laugh. “How old are you, buddy?”

“I’m eight.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Oliver!”

“Can Oliver get a picture with you?” the dad asked, piping in for his son. Nate agreed – of course – and Oliver jumped in. Before he got his phone out of his pocket, the dad eyed Sorcha, who was looking on quite amused by the situation. “Sorry,” he offered.

“It’s no problem at all,” she was gracious. If it had been the dad asking for a picture and autograph in the middle of their conversation, it would be one thing, but this was about a kid meeting his idol. The dad snapped a few pictures before telling Oliver to thank Nate for his time.

“I hope you win the Stanley Cup this year, Nathan MacKinnon,” Oliver said. “I hope you win and I hope you bring it back here so we can all have a parade.”

Sorcha eyed Nate discreetly. She knew that, at his core, he was still torn up about not winning it this year. “Thanks buddy,” Nate replied, giving the boy a smile. “Have fun playing hockey. Maybe you’ll be the next superstar from Cole Harbour.”

Oliver and his dad left after a plethora of thank yous. Nate focused his attention back on Sorcha, breathing out for the first time since the interaction. “That was nice of you,” she said.

Nate shrugged off the comment. “What I did wasn’t nice. It’s what anybody would do.”

“I sometimes forget how much people idolize you,” Sorcha said. Despite hearing his name on the news all the time, to be hit with his influence right in the face was completely different. “You mean a lot to that kid. You probably made his childhood.”

“Do I mean a lot to you?” Nate asked suddenly.

The question took Sorcha off-guard. She wasn’t prepared for it, and didn’t know how to respond. The one thing she did know was that she had to tell the truth. There was no use in lying, or masking the truth to appear as if she wasn’t vulnerable, or that them getting closer these past few weeks meant nothing to her. “You’re getting there, I think,” she replied.

Nate nodded slightly. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing that I’m aware of.”

“Wanna come over mine? Just us, alone?” Nate asked.

Sorcha couldn’t help the bashful smile that took over her face yet again. He was relentless. He just couldn’t give up. At the same time, she was willing to give in. Because she deserved it. She deserved good things. And this was a good thing. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

***

It was Wednesday night when Victoria sent Sorcha – who was curled up with Juno on her couch watching re-runs of Schitt’s Creek – a post on Instagram followed by a text:

SPOTTED: Superstar curator, acclaimed East Coast artist, and all-around amazing human being Sorcha Saint-Coeur seen in the background of a photo with some apparently famous guy named Nathan MacKinnon who kids want to take pictures with. xoxo, Gossip Girl

Sorcha chuckled slightly, opening the post Victoria sent. It was from the other day, when she and Nate had met up at the coffee shop to apologize to each other and a father and son had approached Nate for a picture. Sorcha was caught in the background of the photo – smiling, thankfully, and looking at Nate and the kid taking the picture. Sorcha noticed Nate was tagged in the picture, but that it wasn’t from the dad’s account. Instead, the NHL’s official Instagram account had re-posted it, with the caption “When in Halifax!” Sorcha 100% believed they couldn’t come up with anything more creative. With over 190 comments, she became curious. What could possibly be so interesting that it warranted almost 200 comments? She clicked on the caption.

@_alexandrajones: new gf?

@thompsondavis14: no way lol must be a sister or a cousin

@daisydee: girl in the back nate’s new girl?

@terry55: a hockey player would never date a non-blonde

@jennyyy497: tumblr bout to find out that girl’s blood type

@5356annie: for real. new gf?

@marinalove: no way in hell that’s natemac’s gf

@johnnyg: it’s very obviously an old friend or cousin

What made it so fucking obvious? Sorcha huffed reading the last comment, and it took everything within her not to hit the reply button and type out ‘actually, we fucked last night’ on the thread of responses, just to fuck with everybody. But she knew she didn’t need to because she had nothing to prove. She didn’t need to because nobody needed to know who she was, what her role in Nate’s life was, or any of her business for that matter. It was better (and safer) to remain completely anonymous and let people speculate whatever they were going to speculate.

@avsfan92: friend or girlfriend in the back?

@jessyjohnston: obvious friend

@erikjohnsonfanclub: cute kid, but the girl in the back?

@tamasingryfe: friend? cousin? dentist? anybody but gf, clearly

Sorcha’s eyes rolled so hard she was afraid they’d get stuck. What was it about people that made them think the hockey player would never be with someone with her body, and not the other way around? Were people still so backward, so stupid? Instead, she swiped out of the comments and post, back to the conversation with Victoria.

sorchasaintcoeur: I think that should be his superhero nickname sorchasaintcoeur: Apparently Famous Guy™

Sorcha locked her phone and snuggled more into Juno, ignoring any thoughts about the comments she’d read just seconds earlier.

***

Nate couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face when he saw Sorcha exit her apartment with an overnight bag and Juno on a leash. He’d been leaning against the side of his Range Rover waiting for her after he’d called to say he was there to pick her up. Earlier that day, while she was at work, he’d gotten groceries, two bottles of wine (though he knew he had a bunch at his house), and craft beer from a local brewery and put it in the backseat. Sorcha was wearing a summer dress and sneakers, having changed out of her work clothes. She kept her hair long and curly, just how he liked it, although he knew she wasn’t dressing for anybody except herself. “This must be Juno,” he said, pushing himself off his Range Rover.

“Of course you acknowledge my dog first,” Sorcha joked. “I don’t blame you though, she’s kind of a babe.”

“Hello Juno,” Nate put on his dog-voice as Juno approached him, Sorcha letting the leash elongate enough so Juno could smell his outstretched hand. Once she finished with his hand, she moved on to his knees, and shins, and feet, sniffing furiously all over his legs. “Do you smell Cox on me? You’re going to meet him very soon. He’s a bit of a hunk.”

“Oh geeze,” Sorcha rolled her eyes playfully. “Sorry to break it to you, but no dog is as beautiful as my Juno.” Instead of respond, she watched as Nate outstretched his hand once more; in turn, Juno began to lick it, signalling her approval of this new figure. Nate eventually opened the trunk so Juno could get into the tailgate, and Sorcha made sure to put her overnight bag in the backseat next to the groceries.

As Sorcha slipped into the passenger’s seat, Nate turned on the ignition. She noticed a USB cord. “What are we listening to?” she asked.

“Surprise me,” Nate said, handing her the cord. “Just no country music.”

Sorcha arched her brow. “Do you honestly take me as the country music type? I lived in Florence for God’s sake.”

“No,” he snorted. He loved how she used living in Florence as a justification for not being into country music. “Just a warning, that’s all.”

Nate put the car in drive and signalled to join the road. Sorcha was scrolling intently through her phone, with a definite purpose. Finally deciding on a song, she tapped her screen and made sure the volume was up. The beginning sounds of “Compton” by Kendrick Lamar filled the car, and Nate’s jaw dropped. “Kendr—Com—Sorsh, you’re into hip hop?!” he was shocked.

“Uh, yeah,” she was confused by his reaction, although she had an inkling she knew what his reaction was all about. “I love hip hop. I’ve been listening to it forever. Do you—you’re into it too?”

“Yes! I love hip hop! It’s practically all I listen to!” he exclaimed. God, first they had the German shepherds in common, and now this? Nate couldn’t believe it. “You’re telling me that the entire time you had your headphones in during high school, you were—”

“—I was listening to hip hop, yeah,” she finished the sentence, blushing, chuckling, not believing this was happening at all. “Kid Cudi, Drake, ASAP Rocky, Kendrick, plus a bunch of the older stuff – Eminem, Nas, Jay-Z, early Kanye, Tupac, Biggie, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre…”

“How did I not know this?!” Nathan exclaimed, flabbergasted at the discovery. “How is it that all this time we were into the same music and I never knew?”

“You never asked, Nate,” her answer was simple, but honest.

They were both quiet, the impact of Sorcha’s words weighing on them slowly but surely. He didn’t know because he never asked, because he had better things to do, like play hockey and hang out with his friends who called her ‘Sorcha the Orca’ and laugh at all the rumours they spread about her. He didn’t know because he was caught up in his social circle and being a teenage boy, and it was extremely rare – almost a miracle – if a teenage boy ever thought that someone beyond their social circle could have similar interests. He didn’t know because he never took the time to actually get to know her until now.

“I guess I didn’t, huh?” he asked, ashamed, like so much else to do with Sorcha and their past.

“At least we know about it now,” Sorcha offered, not wanting to see guilt in his face or hear it in his voice. “Does this mean I can control the music the entire way up to your place?” she tried to lighten the mood.

“It does,” Nate smiled, making sure to signal his merge onto the highway. “This also means I get to ask you so many questions.”

They couldn’t shut up about hip hop music for the entire car ride. They asked each other about their favourite albums, fought over whether College Dropout or Late Registration was Kanye’s best, discussed the age-old question of Tupac versus Biggie, and so much more. It was clear to both of them just how much they missed of each other growing up being closer to sworn enemies than friends from not speaking. What could have been if they knew this – and more – about each other when they were 12? 13? 14? How would the trajectories of their lives have changed? What kind of relationship would they have today? Though they both tried not to focus on the ‘what ifs’ and focus on the now – being in the car together driving up to Nate’s house – they both couldn’t help but linger on the thought.

When they arrived at Nate’s driveway, he opened the gate using his special remote and waited for it to open. There were butterflies in his stomach now, though he didn’t know why. “Where’s Sid’s house?” Sorcha asked.

“The lot to the right,” he said, pointing amongst trees. “I don’t know if he’s in town, though.”

“Well it’s not like I want to visit him.”

Nate chuckled. “And what if he just popped over for a visit unannounced?”

“Does he do that?”

“He does. A lot.”

“Then you might have to perform CPR on me, because I’d die.”

Nate laughed out loud, driving his car along the driveway towards his house, which was set back further into the lot, near the lake. “I was never trained in CPR – think I might have to call an ambulance.”

“God, they’ll never get here in time. At least I’d die knowing Sidney Crosby knows that I exist.”

Nate desperately wanted to say ‘He already does, don’t worry’, but decided against it. Too much could have been opened up with that simple sentence. Instead, he waited as his house came into view, the trees surrounding it swaying slightly in the wind, the perfectly manicured lawn glistening. “Here it is,” he said.

Sorcha had been watching the entire time. She tried to make it so that her jaw didn’t drop upon seeing the house, but she was so overwhelmed with the sheer size and beauty of it that she was sure her jaw did drop. “Holy cow, Nathan,” she whispered. “What a beautiful home. Tim Horton’s must be paying you a lot of money for those commercials.”

He snorted, parking his car outside of the coach house. “Come on, get your stuff. It’s even better inside. And Juno can meet Cox, finally.”

Nate went to get Cox first, and after a great initial meeting between the dogs, he got the groceries out of the car while Sorcha grabbed her overnight bag and portable crate. Walking into the house, she was amazed at the simple yet beautiful interior. After setting the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and setting up the portable crate next to Cox’s, Nate gave her a tour of the house: the formal living and dining rooms, which he barely used and were only really there to collect dust; the huge eat-in kitchen that had massive accordion patio doors out to the deck that overlooked Shubenacadie Grand Lake; the office, which the architect planned for the house, even though Nate didn’t particularly need an office; the five bedrooms upstairs, including the guest space Sorcha was staying in, and his master bedroom with its own balcony overlooking the trees and the lake; and finally to the basement games room, entertainment room with bar, and the massive gym with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened to the outdoors.

To say Sorcha was impressed was an understatement. The house was so tastefully done, and though it was large, it was still homey – it didn’t feel like a show home or one of those houses where she was scared to sit on the furniture. After seeing it all, she concluded that it was all very Nathan more than anything: big, but unpretentious. “Your house is beautiful, Nate,” Sorcha said quietly, as they stood in his gym looking out the glass doors onto the lake. She could feel him look over at her so she looked over at him. “I know—I know it probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I mean that sincerely. This is a beautiful house.”

“It actually does mean something coming from you, so thank you,” he said, nodding once, noting the sincerity in her voice. “It was mostly the architect and interior designer. And, you know, input from my parents and stuff. But thanks.”

“You’ve built quite the life for yourself,” Sorcha continued. “It’s great to see. I never thought I’d say that, but it is.”

Nate couldn’t help but smile. Oh, how times had changed. Just a few weeks ago, he’d never thought he’d hear those words come out of Sorcha’s mouth. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever see her again. She had virtually completely slipped from his memory. And now here she was, in his house, the way he wanted it to be right now. “C’mon…let’s go back upstairs and get started on dinner.”

They went upstairs, Juno and Cox following behind them, and began taking everything out of the grocery bags. Sorcha had sent him a list of everything she needed to make the side dishes that night, whereas Nate was responsible for the protein. Nate took the two bottles of wine out of the bag last and held them up. “Shall we begin?” he asked.

“Definitely,” Sorcha smiled, watching as Nate opened a cupboard and reached for wine glasses. “Do you have speakers in here? I can connect my phone and make a playlist.”

“God yeah, it’s on Bluetooth,” he informed her. He watched her take out her phone before he eyed all the ingredients set out on the counter. “So what exactly are you making here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled, not even bothering to look up from her phone.

He chuckled slightly. “Come on. What is it?”

It was only then that she eyed him. “Oh my God, are you one of those Tom Brady types who doesn’t eat, like, iodized salt and nightshade vegetables?” she asked.

“No!” he got defensive. “Not at all!”

“Oh my God you are, aren’t you?!” she exclaimed.

“No I’m not! I’m just genuinely curious!” he tried to cover.

She eyed him skeptically. “I’m making an orzo salad and then some panzanella.”

“Panza-what?”

“Panzanella. It’s a traditional Italian dish from Florence. It’s why I asked you to get the stale, on sale bread instead of the fresh one.”

Nate smiled. “You gonna cook me some Italian food, Sorsh?” he winked playfully.

“Don’t push it,” she said, though her heart couldn’t help but flutter slightly at the wink. Nate finally uncorked the bottle of wine and poured some into the glasses, sliding one across the counter towards her. She took it in her hands, looking Nate in the eye. God, they were so blue. “What are we toasting to?” she asked.

“To alone time,” he said, raising his glass slightly.

Sorcha smiled. He was going there. He was really going there. And she was going there too. “To alone time,” she clinked their glasses together delicately before taking a sip of the wine. “Oh, that’s delicious.”

He smiled, too. “Start the music. I’ll start marinating the chicken.”

They worked in harmony around the kitchen, with Nate marinating the protein simply with olive oil, salt, pepper, and parsley, and with Sorcha boiling the orzo and chopping all the necessary vegetables to go in the pasta salad and panzanella. Nate watched as she chopped and prepped everything expertly, rapping along to the music as she did so. He’d join in, too, and they’d look up and smile and giggle at each other. When he started the charcoal barbeque, he set the table outside. Soon, Sorcha came outside with her orzo salad and panzanella dishes, even handing Nate his wine glass. Before he knew it, he was sitting down with Sorcha across from him, perfectly grilled chicken thighs, orzo salad, and panzanella adorning his plate.

The music was lowered and made for some great background noise as Nate and Sorcha ate their dinner and carried on their conversation while the sun set over the lake. While they still talked about rap music, they also moved on to other subjects, and just like the drive up, they couldn’t keep quiet. Between the good food, the good wine, and the silence surrounding them from the lake, Sorcha had to admit this was one of the loveliest dinners she’d had since living in Florence. For Nate, who was enjoying the company more than anything, it was definitely the loveliest dinner he’d had in a while, too. He made sure to eat slowly, and pour himself and Sorcha a second and third glass of wine, just so it could all last longer. And when they finished the first bottle, Nate wasted no time opening the second.

“Hey Nate?”

“Hmm?”

“D’you remember…God, this is so stupid—”

“—Tell me.”

Sorcha took a deep breath. This was probably the alcohol talking, but she needed to let it out. “D’you remember one of first dinners – the one where we just ate Sober Island oysters all night?”

“Yeah…”

“Remember how I said after high school, I made the choice to embrace people who loved me and didn’t judge me, and take every opportunity that came my way so I could live the life I wanted to?

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Well, I’m happy I made the choice to come here with you,” she admitted out loud. “I—I’m happy to be spending this time with you, alone up here with no-one around. And I feel—I feel I can be myself around you, when I wasn’t able to when we were growing up. I think that’s the biggest thing. You know the real me now, just like how I know the real you and not the guy I see on TV all the time.”

Nate couldn’t help the smile that took over his face as she said those words. She was standing near him, countless glasses of wine deep and saying those words to him, and all he could feel were butterflies in his stomach. “I think it help that you’ve been getting the real me from the beginning,” he said. “I never pretended to be someone I wasn’t. Just like you.”

“It did help,” she nodded her head. “I mean, it got us here.”

By the time the food was finished, the both of them were, well…tipsy. With two bottles of wine split between them, they were in a giggly mood, and so playful with one another. With the third open and on route to being poured, any semblance of nervousness, apprehension, or timidity about spending time alone together at Nate’s house was completely gone. “I’m gonna play some more music,” Sorcha smiled as she picked up her phone while Nate loaded the dishwasher, seeing a couple of missed notifications from Victoria on her lock screen before swiping and going into Spotify. She clicked on the first thing she saw – “King Kunta” by Kendrick Lamar – before pressing the shuffle button.

“Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh noooooooooo!!!” Nate exclaimed, covering his face with his hands as he blushed from embarrassment. “Why would you do this to me?! Why?!”

Sorcha furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

“This song! This song is gonna haunt me forever!”

“Nate, what the fuck are you talking about?!”

His eyes got a bit dewy as he looked at her. “You—you haven’t seen the video?”

“What video?”

With his critical thinking capacities affected by the alcohol (and the fact that it didn’t look like they were going to stop drinking any time soon), Nate pulled out his phone instead of letting the whole thing slide. He swiped through his videos folder before shoving his phone at her. The infamous video from the 2015 World Championships played, much to Sorcha’s astonishment. She started laughing uncontrollably at his stupid dancing, the hand motions, the beer drinking, and the stupid smile on his face. He was so proud of his dance moves. “Oh my God, Nathan.” She watched him shimmy back and forth with his stupid face, half of the team watching and filming him. “Oh my Gooood, Nathan!”

“We had just won the gold medal!” he exclaimed, as if that explained it all. “Give me a break!”

“What is…what is this?!” she asked, mimicking part of the dance moves. “What is that?!”

“Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!” Nate was crushed.

“You are a disaster,” she giggled out, shaking her head in amusement. She never thought she’d see him so embarrassed, even though it wasn’t really something to be embarrassed about. Everybody had stupid dance moves they went to – even her. “You’ve gotta teach me this dance, Nathan.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yeah, you really do,” she said as she closed the dishwasher. The other dirty plates could wait until tomorrow. She grabbed her wine glass and took a gulp. “Come on. How do I shimmy like you?” she asked. “Like this? Eh, eh, eh, eh!” she mimicked the sounds he made in the video.

“Sorsh!”

“Show me, you goof!” she demanded. It took some egging on, but finally, finally, Nate danced with her, just as ridiculously as he’d done in the original video, and for the rest of the song they danced together to the funky beat, giggling at each other’s moves along the way. Sorcha ended up laughing so hard she had to stop, almost falling over before leaning herself over the counter as leverage. “You’re never going to live this down,” she managed to get out.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I’m gonna remind you about it every day for the rest of our lives.”

Nate couldn’t help but smile at the insinuation, at the thought that she’d be around for that long. “You promise?” he asked. He didn’t know if that was the alcohol talking or not.

“I promise.”

They both took another big gulp of wine. The song changed and Nate opened the fridge to grab yet another bottle of wine, as if he hadn’t just opened one. “I got smores in the cupboard too,” he said, a stupid drunken smile appearing on his face. “You want some?”

“Do you even have to ask with smores?” Sorcha shot back.

Nate grabbed the smores, holding them against his chest. Sorcha grabbed the wine bottle and replenished their glasses until the third bottle was empty. Two drunk idiots near a fire probably wasn’t the wisest choice, but they miraculously managed not to burn themselves once Nate turned the flame on. As the songs played and they assembled their smores with the fine motor skills of a two-year-old, Sorcha couldn’t stop giggling and staring at Nate like she was still a schoolgirl; for his part, Nate couldn’t stop staring as Sorcha either, mentally kicking himself for ever having doubted how great of a person she was and how it took him so long to realize they were so alike. He would never be able to recover the lost time, but he certainly wanted to make up for it. Despite the darkness around them, both Sorcha and Nate felt nothing but light in them. The night was going as perfectly as either could have hoped. They danced their stupid dance moves, rapped along with the songs, drank the rest of their wine, and had chocolate and marshmallow all over their mouths by the time they were done.

It was only when ‘Smile Like You Mean It’ by The Killers came on that Nate paused and looked at her weird. “This isn’t hip-hop,” he chastised.

“God Nate, I don’t listen to only hip-hop,” Sorcha rolled her eyes. “I love other music too.”

“Like who?”

“Them,” she raised her wine glass up to signify The Killers, before taking a huge gulp. As Nate turned off the flame for the fire pit, she listed more bands. “Mumford and Sons, Sam Fender, Arkells, Springsteen—”

“—My parents love Springsteen—”

“—They have great taste,” she smiled. “Maggie Rogers, The Lumineers,…oooh! And I’ve been loving Leon Bridges.”

Nate watched her as she listed the names of the artists she loved, as she bobbed her head along to the song as she did so, and how, in between saying names and right after she was done, she sang along with the lyrics. He took a huge gulp of wine before deciding half way through to just finish off the glass. “Have you looked up yet?” he asked her, trying to distract himself and the feelings that were creeping up in his chest.

“Why?”

“To see the stars,” he said. “We’re out of Halifax. No light pollution.”

Sorcha looked up, and when she did, he watched as her jaw dropped. “Ho-ly shit! Look at all those stars!” she exclaimed.

“Cool, isn’t it?”

“You get this all the time while you’re here?”

“When the sky’s clear, yeah,” he said. “The house sort of blocks behind us, but on the balcony outside my bedroom—”

“—take me to the balcony,” Sorcha demanded. “Oh my Goooddd! Take me!”

She almost left without him, grabbing the fourth bottle of wine and her phone from the counter as they hurried through the house. When they stepped out into his balcony, Sorcha dramatically whipped her head up again, seeing even more stars than before. “Wooooowwww,” she was rendered speechless at what she was witness to. “I can’t believe how clear it is! How many there are!”

“Told you,” Nate smiled.

They stayed silent as Sorcha kept her head up and admired the sky above. She’d never really seen it so clear before, and so populated with stars. It was so beautiful to her, and something she knew she would want to see over and over again. How could she not? For a girl who grew up and lived in cities her entire life, stars so bright in the night sky could be so magical.

Nate had taken the wine bottle from her and replenished both their glasses – sloppily. He definitely spilled some. “Hey Sorsh?”

“Hmm?”

“Show me your favourite Leon Bridges song.”

Sorcha bit her bottom lip to keep the grin off her face. She scrolled quickly through her phone and took another big swig of wine before tapping. There was silence before beautiful, simple guitar chords began to play peacefully, with nothing else accompanying them. Nate watched as Sorcha swayed with them, closing her eyes and mouthing along to the lyrics sung by one of the most soulful voices Nate had ever heard.

Been travelling these wide roads for so long My heart’s been far from you, ten thousand miles gone Oh, I wanna come near and give ya every part of me But there’s blood on my hands, and my lips aren’t clean In my darkness I remember Momma's words reoccur to me "Surrender to the good Lord and he'll wipe your slate clean" Take me to your river, I wanna go Oh, go, take me to your river, I wanna know Dip me in your smooth water, as I go in As a man with many crimes, come up for air As my sins flow down the Jordan Oh, I wanna come near and give you every part of me But there's blood on my hands, and my lips are unclean

Nate couldn’t handle it anymore. He took a few steps forward then, as Sorcha opened her eyes to look at him. The presence of his body in such close proximity to hers felt so good, so nice. She liked it so much. So much. Was that the alcohol talking? He wrapped his arm around her waist, looked down at her, and in one swift movement without hesitation, he kissed her.

Like, kissed her. Not a little peck. Not something innocent. A full-blown kiss – open mouth, full force, tongue grazing her bottom lip already desperate for entry.

Sorcha kissed back just as hard. Not shocked. Not scared. Fully wanting it. Fully wanting to give it, too. Maybe all the wine gave her the boost she needed.

Nate had wanted to kiss her since he saw her come out of her place, and she not much longer after that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, sticking her tongue down his throat with him reciprocating shortly after. They stumbled a bit until they backed into the railing, but didn’t take their lips off each other. Sorcha could feel Nate’s big hands grab on to her hips and the material of her dress, squeezing at her flesh there before moving his hands to grope her ass over her sundress, causing her to gasp out. Before either of them could say anything or pause, their lips were desperate to be reattached. Their kisses were sloppy and felt almost manic due to the pent-up energy they both had in them from wanting this for so long.

In the briefest second that their lips were parted once more, Sorcha was able to whisper something she never thought she’d whisper to Nathan MacKinnon. “Take me to bed.”

Nate got excited. They moved from the balcony back inside to his bedroom with their lips not leaving one another’s until he sat down on his bed and pulled her on top of his lap. Her sundress rode up her thighs as she did so, exposing them and allowing Nate to squeeze at her flesh there too, eventually moving back to squeezing her ass underneath the fabric of her sundress. Eventually, his lips and tongue made their way down her neck, and his hands came up to pull down the straps of her dress. Groping her over the fabric, he kissed along the top of her breast then, with Sorcha tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head before he kissed at her other breast. There was no room for words, no room for speaking, no room for much else besides kissing and groping and moaning.

Sorcha had been with other sexual partners before, but there was something about Nate’s body that drove her absolutely wild. It was so toned, but not overly muscular, and it was clear that he maintained it seriously but still made sure he had fun. Sitting on his thighs and grinding on them meant she could feel how thick they were. She could also feel how hard he was getting, and her body was hot from the intense passion they shared. She bunched up the material of her dress, and Nate helped get it over her head, leaving her in her bra and panties on top of him. Nate flipped them over quickly so she was laying on the bed and he was on top of her. She fumbled with the button and zipper of his pants but eventually got it, sliding them down. He took off her bra, and made sure to suck at her nipples quickly before sliding her panties down.

They kissed each other a few more times before Sorcha could feel Nate push inside of her. It felt incredible instantly for both. “Ooooh Jesus,” she let out, her voice barely louder than a whisper as she arched her back slightly. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

Nate attacked her lips, pumping in and out of her. He let out a grunt at her words. “You feel incredible. This is incredible.”

They looked into each other’s eyes then, relishing in the feeling of their bodies connecting in a way they never thought plausible just a few short weeks ago. Sorcha thought she’d never see Nate again, and now she was under him in bed having some damn good sex. Nathan never thought he’d see Sorcha again either, and now he was fucking her in his bed after making the first move himself.

Their moaning got louder as Nate increased his pace, and he could feel himself getting closer with every thrust. Their pent-up energy meant that this wasn’t going to last long – there was no way it could with how much passion and alcohol that was between them. It was meant to start and end quickly but be a hell of a ride. “Can I come inside you?” he asked, the alcohol consumed slurring his speech.

Sorcha nodded. “Please.”

More sloppy kisses. More moans from her, and grunts from him, getting louder and louder. Nate could feel her walls tighten, and she let out a cry as she orgasmed. He came with her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, trying to catch his breath from how incredible it all felt. He gave her one last kiss before collapsing beside her in bed, the both of them trying to catch their breath.

Neither spoke. Neither said a single word. Instead, the alcohol caught up to them, as did the events of the day, and instead of realizing exactly what they’d just done, they drifted off to sleep.

***

Nate’s eyes fluttered open at the God forsaken hour of 6:30 the next morning. Before he could even really wake up or open his eyes, he could feel his head pounding. He’d have to get water. And Advil. Maybe he’d throw up at some point and feel better. Maybe he’d have to break open some Gatorade to recuperate. He’d have to get the same for Sorcha, and have them ready for her when she woke up: an extra strength Advil, a water bottle, and a blue Gatorade. Maybe she preferred red.

He rubbed his eyes for a good minute, and tried massaging his forehead to bring some sort of relief to his headache. He turned his head to the side Sorcha fell asleep on, expecting to see her naked body in bed, her curly hair against the white of the pillow, her beautiful face sleeping.

Except she wasn’t there.

That woke Nate up quickly. He furrowed his brows. Okay, maybe she had gotten sick during the night and ran to the washroom to throw up and just ended up sleeping on the floor. That had happened to him and a lot of his buddies before. So he got up out of bed slowly, with his head pounding, and walked over to his ensuite.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she was back out on his balcony to admire the morning sunrise view. So he walked over to the doors that led to his balcony.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she had switched rooms in the middle of the night to the original guest room she was supposed to be staying in. So he walked down the hallway, knocked on the door as a warning, an opened it slowly.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she had already woken up and was looking for Advil, water, and Gatorade herself in his kitchen. He put on boxers and a t-shirt and made his way down the stairs, slowly, so he could greet her in his kitchen.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Nate’s chest tightened. Maybe she was out on the deck, enjoying a morning coffee. He looked through the doors.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she was down in the gym, since it had the walkout. He went down to his basement to check.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

Maybe she was out on the dock, sitting with Juno, admiring the beautiful view just as she’d done yesterday. He slipped on a pair of slides so he could walk outside and down towards his dock.

It was empty. She wasn’t there.

She was gone.

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon fan fic #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche fan fic #nathan mackinnon blurb #colorado avalanche blurb #avs #avs imagine #avs fic #avs fan fic #avs blurb #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #nhl blurb #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #hockey blurb #that which we are we are series

[diningchairs]

this fucking interview from a few days ago where miles keeps listening in on ross and they keep making eye contact is driving me CRAZYYYYY

#THEYRE INSANE #it fits the fic im writing so well #like why are they acting like middle schoolers in their first relationship #also there was another interview where ross is saying that they’re rlly good friends off the ice and they have tons of inside jokes….ugh #THEYRE BOYFRIENDS #ross colton #miles wood #roscowoody #colorado avalanche #avs